Goldenboy exists, it seems to me, at the intersection of nasty heartbreak, where the waves are slapping roughly against the rocks and something purely sweet and anecdotal, something that's going to be easily brushed off as just another interesting thing that happened to a person, but never got to them too seriously. It's this person who can afford the casualty, that one who is fine with the gauntlet coming down and letting the heads roll because that head might roll right on into a pretty lake just down the hill and then all would be fine once again.
There seems to be a misty upside here, with everything that the Diamond Bar, California, band writes, giving it this concussed sense of being mired in a feeling of: well, is this supposed to hurt at all or should it just feel this toasty all the time? It's hard to know the answer, as the songs that lead singer Shon Sullivan writes are deceptive that way. They share familiar territory with a Californian cove, hidden off somewhere that's not easily arrived at, where the most spectacular sunsets are known to be observed. There's just something about the color and the way it covers everything right there, that's unlike any other place where the sun's setting at that given moment.
What you wonder is if this picturesque place is also a spot that's been known to be a frequent location for the fulfillment of the death pacts of young lovers who realize that no one's ever going to let them be together, and in effect, happy. You can almost see them leaping together to their fractured end, hand-in-hand and never happier than right then and there, with the warm air not holding them up or back. Sullivan's songs are here to remind us to, as he sings, "Come on, come on/It's not that cold," as if there were something optimal and universally warm for everyone. You just have to make the decision to step into it.