On May 5, a moody Monday night in Manhattan, Bowery Ballroom became a shelter for something introspective. No chaos. No urgency. Just the slow build of tension—the kind of set that doesn’t demand attention but lingers long after. Sunday (1994) stepped into that space and carved something out of it. Out of us.

Opening the night was Alisa Xayalith, waltzing into her solo era with a sound that felt stripped back yet deeply grounded. Her voice was crisp and composed, gliding with quiet confidence. It wasn’t showy—it didn’t need to be. She set the tone with intention, softening the room before Sunday (1994) took the stage.

When they did, the atmosphere tightened. The band cut through the haze and brought the room into sharp focus with a sound that was dense, deliberate, and unhurried. As the set unfolded, the songs avoided traditional arcs—they hovered, pulsed, and moved like memories resurfacing without warning. At the center was Paige Turner’s voice: intimate but distant, carrying the weight of reflection.

Sunday (1994) didn’t push the crowd to react—they trusted them to feel. The room stayed still, focused, taking in each pause like it mattered. It was less a performance than a mood drawn out across time. But despite the heaviness, the band held the room with ease—thanks in no small part to Lee Newell, whose unmistakable English charm cut through the haze. Whether exchanging smiles between songs or throwing out quick one-liners, his presence brought levity and warmth that kept the set grounded.

Known for their soft pink and grayscale aesthetic across album art and socials, Sunday (1994) leaned instead into a lighting design that was vivid and immersive. Deep blues, golden ambers, and saturated reds swept across the stage—not flashy, but cinematic.

Between songs, Paige shared pieces of the emotional thread tying their work together—their debut album shaped forged in upheaval, and their newest EP, Devotion, by the quiet work of what comes after. This wasn’t music about resolution—it was about forward motion, about carrying the weight and continuing anyway. The deeper theme was clear: we’re not entirely healed, but we’re still here. There was something steadying in that honesty, and the room took it in fully.

As the final notes faded and the house lights returned, it was still Monday outside the haven of Bowery Ballroom. The city was still moving, tomorrow’s work day loomed. But for a little while, inside that room, time bent around something slower, heavier, and more human. Sunday (1994) didn’t offer escape. They offered presence—and for anyone carrying something quiet and unsaid, that was more than enough.

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SUNDAY (1994) SET LIST

• Intro
• Blonde
• Stained Glass Window
• TV Car Chase
• Our Troubles
• Devotion
• Mascara
• Loneliness
• Still Blue
• Softly
• Rain
• Blossom
• Tired Boy