The heard-through-vinyl-crackle guitar licks that open up Sonny sound lifted from some outtake of Jazmine Sullivan’s “Lost Ones,” distant and bare-bones in their pining. Halfway through the first verse though, synths and starry blips come in, more gauze for the self-eviscerating process of remembering a love forgone: “You stayed awake, we shared a bed / Made room for you and me.” The room starts to fill, simple pleas of “want you back” and “give me that” echoing in the air, the corporeal rendered into a cavern — then: a chamber of strings and a choir of her own voice. Each chorus posits itself as catharsis, the way it swells and Lisa Remar bites into the phrase “like a good fuck on a rainy day,” but it never comes. “I’ll just count to three / Start over again like it’s all fun and games”: Another fantasy without forever.
Lisa Remar – Sonny