There are voices that arrive like weather. And then there are voices that feel like architecture. Stone. Timber. Vaulted ceilings. 

With a baritone that moves in the shadowed corridors of Nick Cave and Scott Walker, Hobart’s Edward Guglielmino writes like a man in correspondence with ghosts. There’s something distinctly continental about his phrasing, as though the ink has been filtered through smoky Berlin basements or late-night Milanese cafés before reaching Tasmania’s edge. His second album Sunshine State confirms he’s operating on a different frequency. Not simply a songwriter. An artist in the truest sense. He interrogates ideas without blinking. Says what he thinks. Lets consequence hover in the room like an uninvited guest. Musically, the record is a dark, gothic strain of bittersweet folk-rock. Strings stretch and sigh. Rhythms pulse with quiet defiance. The melodies shimmer in that strange space where melancholy becomes strangely luminous. It’s lush without being indulgent. Opulent without losing its moral grit. One moment it feels gilded and theatrical, the next stripped back to bare confession. There’s also an undercurrent of theatrical intellect, a flicker that recalls the art-pop eccentricity of David Byrne. But where Byrne tilts toward nervous brightness, Guglielmino leans into shadow, holding his gaze steady. Sunshine State is rich in texture and fearless in tone. A record that doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t smooth its edges, doesn’t tidy its truths. It sits with discomfort. It invites you to do the same. For fans of: • Nick Cave’s fearlessness • David Byrne’s cerebral art-pop instinct • Scott Walker’s dramatic baritone gravity A dark jewel from the island at the bottom of the map. 🖤
 
TRACKS::
Mothers
Walking My Way
Swam In The Water
Old Fire
Healthy
You’ll Be The Death Of Me
In The Morning
Grace Under Fire
Alice
Mary