Sam Evian Dives Into the Past and Present on Plunge

This might not be totally accurate but, in my imagination, Upstate New York is essentially nothing but rolling, heavily wooded mountain ranges, bucolic lakes and recording studios as far as the eye can see. Its proximity to big cities, seclusion and natural beauty seem to be the siren call to dozens of bands and artists every year who are looking to head out to the “country” and take their songs to the next level. Sam Owens (who performs as Sam Evian) is quickly becoming one of the premiere producers living in this neck of the woods and, over just the last few years, his home base—Flying Cloud Studios—has given birth to such records as Palehound’s Eye On The Bat, Big Thief’s Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You and Widowspeak’s Plum.

In many ways, Evian’s latest album, Plunge, is consistent with his overall solo project. Ever since his debut album back in 2016, his work has been wrapped in a warm blanket of nostalgia and grooves glossed with psych-rock signifiers first introduced decades before Evian’s career even began. It is a brand of rock ‘n’ roll that is as inherently inoffensive as it is reliable, and Evian does it about as good as any modern practitioner could or has. Songs like “IDGAF” from 2018’s You, Forever and “Knock, Knock” from 2021’s Time To Melt seem to roll off the tongue of their creator with enviable ease. Making it sound this easy is difficult, but Evian seems to relish this kind of invisible tension.

While there is nothing drastic to differentiate Plunge from much of his past work, there is nothing diminishing about the returns this time around—especially when you consider just how pristine a sound Evian is able to pull from his impressive cast of collaborators on this occasion. Joining him on Plunge are Liam Kazar, Hannah Cohen, Santiago Mijares, Adrianne Lenker and El Kempner, all ace songwriters and musicians in their own right. This time around, they bring a level of craftsmanship that raises the ceiling on an album that relies on everyone locking in with Evian’s artistic disposition. In press materials, he talks a lot about the mood established both within and beyond the walls of his Catskills studio, and that certainly manifests itself throughout Plunge—whether in the off-kilter solo from Lenker on “Why Does It Take So Long,” the fitful bongos Mijares contributes to “Freakz” or the feverish harmony that concludes “Runaway.” There’s a reason so many musicians flock to Evian’s studio when it’s time to record their own records, and his skill as a bandleader is on full-display throughout Plunge.

Unfortunately, it is just this very notion that leaves me a bit cold. There are times when I find myself stuck a bit between the two Sams—Owens and Evian. Is this an expert producer laying out his vision in the form of solo material, or a songwriter whose side-job allows him the chance to experiment sonically? It is both, to his credit and, sometimes, to the detriment of his songs. Evian has a way of receding into the background of his own music, an egoless approach that can lead to anonymity if not executed properly. According to Evian, Plunge is largely an album-length exploration of his parent’s decades-long relationship, a thematic throughline that is, to be honest, opaque at best. Evian’s breezy compositions have a way of discouraging the kind of thorough lyrical dissection that would more easily bring these topics to the fore. In the long run, that may be to Plunge’s benefit, becoming the kind of record that only reveals itself after dozens of listens, after the sheen of easy pleasures slowly wears away. But, in the immediate, it can keep the listener at an unwelcome remove.

This, however, does nothing to diminish the many charms that lie closer to the surface. Evian is in such control throughout that it is easy to lose yourself in the ebb and flow of his expert musicianship without worrying yourself over specifics—which is precisely where I find myself landing on Plunge as a whole: an album I like quite a lot when it’s on and ultimately, for better or worse, doesn’t stick with me much afterwards.

Read our recent profile on Sam Evian here.