West Wickhams drop their Sakura EP like a foggy neon postcard from a world that feels half-myth, half-memory. Jon Othello and Elle Flores lean into their signature lo-fi post-punk, bedroom-synth haze, but this time there’s an emotional thread stitched straight from Japanese “mono no aware” the idea that beauty hits harder because it doesn’t last forever. Think cherry blossoms glowing at dusk, gone by morning. The whole EP feels like that moment right before something disappears. Let’s run it track by track.
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1. Up to the Old Tricks: Right from the jump, the EP lands with jittery percussion and a wiry synth line that feels both mischief-charged and spaced out. The track is short, sharp, and restless, like the opening scene of a noir film where you just know people are up to something. Jon and Elle’s vibe is icy but playful here, showing off that “bedroom punk but make it dreamlike” energy they do so well.
2. Ice Block: “Ice Block” cools everything down, but not in a way that feels detached. The beat is minimal and crisp, the kind of rhythm that hangs in the air like cold breath. Their vocals float on top with this soft, mysterious glow. The track taps into the EP’s cherry-blossom energy, pretty, fragile, and lingering just long enough to leave a mark.
3. As the Camera Shuts: This is one of the standout moments. The layered beats feel almost mechanical, like shutters clicking in a dark room, while the vocals sit behind them like a quiet confession caught on film. It’s moody but not heavy, more like a memory that you replay at random. The texture is gorgeous: warm synth dust, soft echoes, and a steady pulse that keeps you locked in.
4. EQ The Viper: is where the EP slips into eerie territory. The atmosphere gets darker, more serpentine, like walking into a hallway lit only by old streetlamps. There’s something unsettling but addictive in the melody, like a whisper that’s too interesting to ignore. It’s psychedelic, shadowy, and very on-brand for West Wickhams’ gothic-noir influences.
5. Save Yourselves: The closer warms the edges without losing the strange allure the duo is known for. The beat has a comforting low glow, while the vocal hums in the background feel almost like a chant. It’s the softest moment on the project, capturing that mono-no-aware essence directly: beautiful, brief, and fading even while you’re listening. A perfect ending.
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Sakura feels like a small universe, lo-fi post-punk meeting synth-pop dreamscapes, wrapped in the emotional philosophy of fleeting beauty. West Wickhams stay true to their roots (Tresco’s ghostly mythology is always in the room) while folding in new warmth and vulnerability. It’s a tight, hypnotic EP that doesn’t overstay its welcome. Just like cherry blossoms, it shows up, stuns you, and disappears, leaving you hitting replay to bring the moment back.
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