Miles Jenson’s Sunshine Goldmine finds clarity in the tension between chaos and care
23 June 2025
Newsdesk
There’s a quiet bravery running through Sunshine Goldmine, the debut EP from Miles Jenson. Across just three songs, Jenson lays bare a journey toward self-understanding, one that doesn’t pretend to have all the answers. The record is sparse in length but rich in feeling, and it’s in that tension—between what’s said and what’s left unsaid—that the EP hits hardest.
The opening track, “Country Club,” sets the tone with its biting commentary on class and race. Jenson’s groove is laid-back, but the words sting. It’s a song that invites the listener in with its warmth, only to leave them unsettled by its truth. The production from King Garbage gives it a lived-in feel, like you’re overhearing a conversation that was never meant for public consumption.
“Sunshine Goldmine,” the title track, dives deeper into personal vice and illusion. Here, Jenson’s storytelling is at its sharpest. The track plays like a memory half-remembered, layered with orchestral swells and subtle dread. It’s the sound of someone trying to reckon with their own past, trying to separate what was real from what was just a convenient lie. And then comes “Turn On A Dime.” By the time you arrive at this closer, the EP feels like it’s gone through a storm and emerged into fragile daylight. There’s nothing flashy about the track—no big chorus, no dramatic shift. Just Jenson’s voice, delicate and unguarded, and a simple arrangement that leaves space for every word to land. The song captures that uncomfortable, necessary act of holding space for both your growth and the impact that growth has on the people who love you. It’s tender, and maybe the most generous moment on the record.
Sunshine Goldmine isn’t trying to dazzle. It’s trying to connect. And it does, because Jenson’s writing doesn’t flinch from the hard parts of being human. These songs aren’t polished to perfection—they’re shaped by the rough edges that make them honest.