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There’s a ghost that lingers in the air of Sun Studio — not the spooky kind, but the kind that hums in the wires and breathes through the old microphones. When Cory M. Coons walked into that sacred Memphis room to record The Sun Sessions, you get the feeling he didn’t come to chase a ghost. He came to talk to it.
This is a record about remembering — not nostalgia, but reclamation. Coons, that road-worn Canadian troubadour with the honey-grit voice, strips himself bare across four tracks that blend reverence, rhythm, and raw humanity. Recorded live off the floor using vintage mics and half-inch tape, The Sun Sessions doesn’t aim for polish. It aims for pulse. Every creak of the chair, every breath between verses, every whisper of tape hiss reminds you: this is how music is supposed to feel.
At the heart of it all is “Crumbs ’24,” a 20-year echo of Coons’ earlier self. The song was reborn right where Elvis, Cash, and Perkins once made lightning in a bottle, and you can feel that current run through the track. “Crumbs” isn’t a song about survival — it is survival. It’s about looking back on the long road you’ve walked and realizing that the things that broke you also built you. There’s an honesty here that most artists spend lifetimes trying to fake.
Then comes “Memphis Whiskey Blues,” a tune that smells like sawdust, bourbon, and Sunday morning redemption. Coons lays it down with a smoky ease — part front-porch confession, part backroom prayer. The lyrics feel lived-in: “I’m just sittin’ by the tracks, sippin’ sweet sour mash…” You can almost see him there, guitar on his knee, watching the trains roll by, letting the memories whistle through. It’s blues in the truest sense — not a genre, but a condition of the heart.
“Faded Glory (Land of the Free)” takes the Americana route, bruised but not broken. It’s a quiet protest sung from the soul of someone who still believes in what could be. And to close, Coons gives us a humble and joyful Elvis medley — “Hound Dog/Don’t Be Cruel.” It’s not a mimic; it’s a nod, a grin, a way of saying, “Thanks for leaving the light on.”
What makes The Sun Sessions special isn’t its reverence for history — it’s the way Coons carries that history forward. You can hear him grappling with the past, bending it into something new, something honest. In an age when perfection is the enemy of passion, this EP stands as a reminder that the truth lies in the take — not the edit.
Listening to these songs feels like flipping through an old Polaroid: imperfect, faded, but full of soul. The Sun Sessions isn’t just a musical project; it’s a communion — between artist and place, between the living and the legendary. And in that space, under the flicker of a Memphis neon sign, Cory M. Coons doesn’t just find his voice — he finds his forever echo.
–Lonnie Nabors
