This is a strange time, one that demands each of us take a stand. We have to choose whether to side with those who hunt down immigrants in the streets or with those who try to integrate them, whether to accept the hate speech pushed by prominent leaders or to use respectful and kind language, whether to agree with those who scorn empathy for others, especially the weak, or to practice everyday acts of solidarity. We have to choose whether to embrace the "dark side of the force" or seek out the light of humanity. Whitelands have made their choice, and "Sunlight Echoes" is a luminous demonstration of it.
Whitelands come from London, formed in 2017, and are made up of Etienne Quartey-Papafio (guitar and vocals), Michael Adelaja (guitar), Vanessa Govinden (bass) and Jagun Meseorisa (drums). Their music fits into the revival of shoegaze, the dreamy genre defined by layers of effects-laden guitars, hazy vocals and ethereal melodies, brought to prominence in the 90s by Ride, My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive. In truth the genre never really disappeared, it just stayed under the radar until those bands' return to the scene paved the way for new generations of dreamers (from The Horrors to Beach House, from Air Formation to Just Mustard).
For Whitelands, shoegaze means devoting yourself to the delicacy of emotions, to tending to vulnerability, to reflecting on our fragile lives in order to heal their wounds. The very opposite of the nastiness pushed by those who want us reduced to dumbed-down consumers of fake news. "Sunlight Echoes" came out earlier this year on Sonic Cathedral and was produced by trusted collaborator Ian Flynn, following two critically acclaimed albums. Reverb, effects, melancholy harmonies and plenty of rhythm form its backbone, enriched further by Etienne's sharp, intense voice.
The closest musical touchstone is the guitar-driven surge of Ride, a band that has always blended dream-pop and britpop. There's also a good deal of the electric pop-rock of bands like Breton, and even some echoes of Klaxons, in their airy melodic openness and their energy.
The album kicks off straight away with the harmonic openings of "Heat Of The Summer", a guitar upfront laying down a stirring melodic line built from just a few notes, the drums hitting exactly hard enough to give grit to a chorus enriched by backing vocals. The following "Songbird (Forever)" is no less striking: the guitars lay the groundwork for Etienne to raise his voice over minor-key riffs, lending the song a light, engaging melancholy.
"Shibuya Crossing" is a hazy, atmospheric slow number. The guitars arpeggiate over a beat that seems to arrive from Mars, Etienne whispers, and everything feels celestial. The track represents the most reflective side of Whitelands' music, alongside other rhythm-breaking episodes that seem almost ordinary and predictable compared to the rest of the record.
It's actually in the more upbeat, drum-driven tracks that the band shines brightest, as on the following "Glance": syncopated rhythm, an irresistible melody and guitar explosions to die for. A track like "I Am No God, An Effigy" is taut and nervy, yet capable of a melodic surge that hooks you with no chance of escape. There's attention to detail, elegant songwriting and committed execution here - you can feel that Whitelands truly believe in their music and in the good it can do. The album closes with "Golden Daze", dreamy Slowdive-esque pop held up by layers of guitars, an aching vocal and a chorus that shows off the band's melodic gifts at their best.
We need albums like "Sunlight Echoes" - music that lifts us up and uplifts us while keeping our feet on the ground, embracing our emotions and our humanity.
Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.
13/02/2026
This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Luigi Zampi, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.