From the opening moments, it becomes clear that Sorenson and Walker have made a conscious decision to privilege intimacy over bombast. The production, overseen by Dave Trumfio at Kingsize Soundlabs, favours spaciousness and clarity, allowing Sorenson's vocals to occupy the foreground with uncommon directness. Her voice—simultaneously fragile and resilient—carries these songs with the kind of emotional weight that cannot be manufactured or feigned. When she sings, you believe her implicitly.
The shift towards the indie singer-songwriter realm might seem like well-trodden territory, yet Sometimes Julie manage to avoid the pitfalls of preciousness that so often plague the genre. The soulful rock foundations that undergirded their earlier work haven't been abandoned; they've merely been reconfigured, distilled down to their essential elements. Walker's acoustic guitar work provides a sturdy backbone throughout, while subtle touches of piano, synth, and the occasional mandolin courtesy of Andy Machin add colour without cluttering the sonic landscape.
Lyrically, Sorenson has never been more forthright. The press materials speak of her "wearing her heart on her sleeve," and while such phrases often serve as euphemisms for self-indulgence, here they ring true. The songs on *Transition* tackle love, loss, and the eternal quest for authenticity with a directness that feels genuinely brave. These are not songs that hide behind metaphor or clever wordplay; they're raw, occasionally uncomfortable examinations of the human condition rendered in unflinching detail.
The expanded ensemble—featuring new band members Darko Petrovic on bass and Guilherme Cunha on lead guitar, alongside longtime collaborators Dave Fuller and Andy Machin—provides understated but essential support. Fuller's drumming and percussion work demonstrates admirable restraint, knowing precisely when to punctuate and when to pull back. The background vocals from Clair Allison and Yvonne Fuller add ethereal layers that enhance rather than overwhelm Sorenson's lead.
Recorded across three North San Diego County studios, the EP benefits from the varied sonic environments whilst maintaining a cohesive through-line. Each track feels like a discrete moment, yet they flow together with the inevitability of chapters in a well-constructed novel. The engineering work from Andy Machin, Dave Fuller, and Walker himself ensures that despite the multiple recording locations, *Transition* never feels disjointed or piecemeal.
The EP's country influences, mentioned in passing in the promotional materials, manifest not as honky-tonk pastiche but as a certain plainspoken honesty in both delivery and arrangement. There's a warmth to these recordings that recalls the best of Americana without ever sliding into genre exercise. Similarly, the pop sensibilities evident in the songwriting never tip into calculation; hooks emerge naturally from the material rather than being imposed upon it.
*Transition* works precisely because it refuses to overreach. Six songs is the correct duration for this particular statement—any longer might have diluted the impact. Sorenson and Walker understand that sometimes the most powerful artistic statement is one of consolidation rather than expansion. They've made an EP that rewards close, attentive listening, one that reveals new nuances with each encounter.
Two years in the making, *Transition* bears the marks of careful craftsmanship without ever sounding laboured or overthought. It's a mature work from artists confident enough to embrace vulnerability, skilled enough to execute it convincingly, and brave enough to present it without apology. The duo have created something that stands apart from their previous catalogue whilst remaining unmistakably their own—no small achievement for any artist at this stage of their career.