Hidden In The Sun

Hidden in the Sun is, simply put, a rock band — guitar, bass, keyboards and drums with a singer. That’s it! No hyphenates. No techno-garage, no ethno-disco, no funk-jazz-soul-industrial-what-not. It’s refreshingly straightforward. Or so it seems.

As the band’s name suggests, there’s something here that’s hard to discern. Right from the start, with the title song of their debut album, “Seven Seasons,” it’s all just slightly off-kilter, in the best ways. Sean Alexander’s guitar and Clara McAllister’s keyboards almost, but don’t quite, mesh. Bassist Jason Vivrette and drummer Scott Rouse don’t so much riff as flow, the music serpentines through songs stretching five, six or seven minutes, as in “Salt and the Spring” or the electric-piano-anchored “Waiting On the Storm.”

At the center, galvanizing it all, is the striking voice and approach of Lizzie Clapper. But how to describe her? If you can come up with any apt comparisons for her, pass them along. I’ve drawn a blank. Ah, but she sums it up herself, though in a different context, with a particularly poetic line on the song “Smoke Signals.” “You mistook me for smoke,” she sings.

The path that led these five to the secluded cabin, deep in the Mendocino redwoods, where “Seven Seasons” was recorded is circuitous and singular as well. McAllister and Rouse started playing together 15 years ago in Tulsa. A few years later, McAllister moved to Northern California to run a music camp, where she and guitar teacher Alexander were taken with the talents of teen singing student Clapper. And from late-night jams, a band was born, though due to various life and logistics issues it took a while to gel.

“San Francisco Blues,” alluding to where the group settled, taps into the countrified folk-rock that has typified the California sound for generations, Clapper singing a siren call to someone who’s left. Matters of identity and place thread through the lyrics, mostly by Clapper and Alexander — songs about trying to find where you belong, with whom you belong, connecting with something, or failing to do so.

So what connections can we make here? The Band? Jefferson Airplane? Big Brother and the Holding Company? A guitar lick here, an organ line there might bring these names to mind, but they’ll prove fleeting notions, and ultimately off-target.

Even at times when the music is relatively straightforward rock, including much (though not all) of the song “My Magdeline,” something about Hidden in the Sun remains alluringly elusive. Just like smoke. - National Public Radio

San Francisco-based band Hidden in the Sun has what they call their “unconventional” first single from the fivesome’s upcoming debut album Seven Seasons, which drops Jan. 20. The seven-minute epic track is all pure mood, dropping the listener into the middle of some beautiful and history-rich “other” world. - Blurt Online

There's something to be said for bands who give you more than the requisite three-minute single—not that there's necessarily anything inherently wrong about that. But in the case of San Francisco indie rock quartet Hidden in the Sun, their first single pushes past the six-minute mark and is as evocative as anything you're likely to hear this week. At one point, you might hear scraps of Southern blues while the next minute might showcase a bit of ambient electronics work. Each person helps in the songwriting process, but far from feeling disjointed or overworked from having too many opinions in the studio, their music works as a cohesive amalgamation of their individual and collective influences.
On their debut album, "Seven Seasons," and in particular on lead single "Salt and the Spring," the band creates a sort of alternate America where history feels somewhat nonlinear and is directed by rhythm and texture instead of political policy. Opening with a carnival-esque organ line and some curious percussive elements, the song slowly unfurls through the haunting and magnetic interplay within the band. We casually walk through a gallery of inspirations without ever settling down for any length of time. The song basks in its expansiveness, a colossal fragment of melody and fury that simmers and roars without consequence—it's an opulent and affecting blast of cathartic rock splendor. - Nooga

Sometimes it's about the simple things, and this new track from Hidden In The Sun knows how to hit hard with few frills. Kicking off with a pared-down piano intro, Lizzie Clapper delivers a quietly devastating tale of loss on "San Francisco Blues," an unlikely tribute to the band's home base. Sprawling out at close to seven minutes, the song gently builds and pulls back, steel guitar adding some Southern twang to the Bay Area band's sound.

“Unlike other songs I write which are often fictionalized histories or emotional tall tales, ‘San Francisco Blues’ is purely autobiographical,” Clapper describes. “Though it is one of the earliest songs we performed together as a band, the emotion of it still speaks very strongly to me. It’s about reaching out to someone who isn’t reaching back.”

Clapper is one of Hidden In The Sun's five rotating songwriters, all of whom bring something different to the table. Previous single "Salt And The Spring" saw the whole team coming together for a more synth-laden, richly textured sound. Their upcoming debut LP Seven Seasons, out January 20 will see Scott Rouse, Clapper, Jason Vivrette, Ciara McAllister, and Sean Alexander (pictured left to right) swapping songwriting duties for a unique collective aesthetic that the band describes as a blend of rock, blues, folk, and funk. - Culture Collide