LOS ANGELES, CA- My story with Sunday (1994) began earlier this year, when I received a press release for their single “Rain.” The song opens with choral voices that feel like memory, and as the modulated guitars plucked in, the lyrics “If I don’t have you, then I’ve got nothing to lose” transported me—back to teenage bedrooms and cassette mixtapes, to an 80s nostalgia I hadn’t known I missed. Rain sounds innocent, hopeful, even, but the lyrics are a beautiful dark turn—love intertwined with desperation. I was hooked, and seeing them live at the Troubadour became a must.
Sunday (1994) is an L.A.–based trio fronted by Paige Turner (Los Angeles) and Lee Newell (Slough, England), alongside an anonymous drummer known simply as “X”. The duo met in 2014, spent years writing songs for others and composing jingles, then during the pandemic decided to write music for themselves. Their debut self-titled EP dropped in May 2024 and quickly grew into a deluxe edition, released through Sony’s Arista/RCA.
Critics describe their sound as dreamy, nostalgic, and whimsical—a perfect blend of indie, dream-pop, and vintage flair. Their creative process is handwritten and DIY: film-first visuals, minimal production, and an honest, cinematic aesthetic that resonates deeply live. As Lee explained, their songs “just kind of appear” —raw, unfiltered, and sincere.
Their debut EP and new singles like “Devotion” and “Still Blue” are cinematic snapshots of longing and emotional landscapes. The deluxe EP expansion and unveiling of new tracks signal that they’re building a story without rushing toward a sophomore slump.
Opening the night was Seattle-based Khatumu Tuscherer, who quickly captured the room’s attention. Although I came in knowing little, my research revealed she’s a Yale alum who dove into music during dorm days and has since dropped an EP titled Free Therapy this June. Her sound blends lo-fi indie-pop with introspective lyricism that centers raw emotional expression and personal storytelling.
On stage, Khatumu owned the space with an intimate yet captivating energy. Her voice was gentle, vulnerable, layered over sparse beats and shimmering guitar touches. Word of her sincerity has spread—her TikToks show her engaging directly with fans, asking where they’re tuning in from and even hinting at city-specific performances. Having a quick listent to Free Therapy, the tracks feel like how I recall live performance: radiating emotional honesty and presenting a unique voice in the indie scene.
Next up was Alisa Xayalith, known for being the lead singer of alt-pop giants The Naked and Famous, I wasn’t aware that she was performing at this show It caught me quite off guard. For fans like me, who fell in love with The Naked and Famous’ shimmering synth anthems, her solo turn felt like the next chapter. While The Naked and Famous is on hiatus, Alisa has been forging her own path, releasing her debut solo album Slow Crush earlier this year.
Her set was light, dreamy, and intimate—yet backed by the same soaring melodies I remembered. When she performed “Alone With You,” (a song I had to identify after her performance as I unfamiliar with her solo repertoire) I was captivated. That song floated across the room, and I was so moved I bought the LP immediately after the show. Listening to Slow Crush on vinyl at home, it didn’t surprise me that “Alone With You” the first track. It felt like rediscovering a cherished memory—Alisa’s voice soft yet strong, revealing depths I’d never heard before. Every lyric feels purposeful, layered with nuance and emotional texture. If this performance was any indication, Slow Crush is a powerful step forward and captures the listener like a whispered secret.
By the time Sunday (1994) took the stage, the Troubadour was buzzing—packed wall to wall with a crowd that felt like it had been holding its breath all night. The line had wrapped around the corner and up Doheny, and if I hadn’t been there as press, I might not have made it in at all. That kind of anticipation is rare, especially for a band whose debut EP only dropped in 2024. But it was clear: something about this group had already struck a chord.
When the lights dimmed and those atmospheric tones started floating through the room, it felt like we were being transported somewhere else entirely. Paige’s voice, tender and full of unguarded emotion, drifted over the crowd like a secret. Lee’s guitar work painted every song in warm, vintage hues. And “X,” the enigmatic drummer hidden behind the kit, gave the entire performance a heartbeat—measured, moody, magnetic. Lola Collette, a new addition to the Sunday (1994) family was masterful and steady on the bass, and her exchanges with Paige were playful and timely.
They played every song off their self-titled EP, including crowd favorites like “Heroin,” “Skylight,” and “Martyr,” which had fans softly mouthing every word like scripture. But when they performed their newer singles—“Devotion,” “Still Blue,” and the devastatingly gorgeous “Rain”—that’s when things hit another level. “Rain” in particular landed like a wave: soaring and solemn, full of ache and affection. The line “If I don’t have you, then I’ve got nothing to lose” rang out like a gentle war cry, and you could feel the weight of it linger in the air. A hushed reverence fell over the crowd; everyone felt that lyric.
What strikes me most about Sunday (1994) is the emotional precision in their songwriting. Their sound is bathed in nostalgia, yes—those dreamy textures, the analog warmth, the gauzy production—but their lyrics are sharp, intimate, and often devastating. It’s a beautiful contrast: the innocence of their melodies layered against stories of complicated love, desperation, and quiet resilience.
There’s also something wonderfully cinematic about them—like their songs belong in the final scene of your favorite coming-of-age film, or in the moment you decide to drive all night just to feel something real. You don’t just hear their music, you see it, remember it, feel it like déjà vu.
Sunday (1994) has all the makings of a band that could become a generation’s soft obsession—if they can resist the trappings of hype and keep leaning into what’s working: simplicity, honesty, and an aesthetic that feels both analog and emotional. With a debut this strong, the only thing they have to fear is the classic sophomore slump. But if their new singles are any indication, they’re not only avoiding the slump—they’re laying the foundation for a long and meaningful run.
This wasn’t just a performance. It was a confirmation. Sunday (1994) is the real thing.
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