Shannen Moser wants to have a conversation: with their past selves, their present self, their undesignated, unfurling future selves; with the trees that adorn their old street, and the door they used to call home; with the shadows of lovers-turned-to-friends and the overwhelming cacophony of abrupt change. They're drawing a map but the port of call is cloudy and indistinct. It's while traveling along these nebulous contours that their latest album The Sun Still Seems To Move forms a kind of physicality, of outstretched giving hands, that offers a guide through the fog. Here, Moser examines the disorientating, challenging task of trying to hold onto ourselves-and everything else-all at once. But this isn't a fatalistic journey of melancholy or apprehension. Instead, Moser celebrates the small steps and the unwavering perseverance that makes it all worthwhile.
