Sun

The aptly titled second album by Frances Pastel Coast, Sun picks up where their 2019 debut, Hovercraft, left off: with a shimmery, jangling indie pop that summons the seaside surfaces and summer infatuations of their native Boulogne-sur-Mer. The group began as the solo recording project of singer and songwriter Quentin Isidore but expanded to a five-piece with their Isidore-helmed debut. With the band separated by the COVID-19 pandemic, he recorded and mixed Sun on his own, though its lush, expansive productions belie their isolated origins. While drawing musically on dream pop, dance-pop, and new wave, separation is indeed addressed lyrically on the driving opener, Distance, which includes lyrics like Dance, dance, dance, dance, distance disappear. The uninitiated may notice that Isidore can evoke Phoenix frontman Thomas Mars at times, arguably never more so than on Sunrise, a midtempo, bittersweet second track that captures certain melodic idiosyncrasies and patterns of repeated words characteristic of Mars. Later in the track list, Sunrise is balanced by the more-invigorated Sunset, which extends the same tendencies. That song opens with Prefab Sprout-type harmonic attacks before launching into a swirling dance-pop. The joyous Rendezvous is another late-appearing, rousing entry. While defaulting to English, Isidore likes to throw in French phrases on occasion, like the latter songs Voulez-vous dancer?, though English speakers will always get the gist. A couple instrumental interludes, including the three-and-a-half-minute intro to the final track, Radiant, add a cinematic flair to Sun that adds to what already feels like an escape from confines. ~ Marcy Donelson