You ever try to hug a ghost? That’s the feeling Cedar Compher hand-delivers with “Coming Home.” But don’t get me wrong—it’s not spooky. It’s the warmth of finally confronting those half-lit corners of your heart you’d rather leave forgotten. In some ways, this EP feels like both a confession and an antidote.
Cedar’s journey—literally and sonically—takes on the shape of a slow exhale. Traveling across the country in a van just to be alone with oneself, only to then release songs brimming with human ache, is a kind of irony that feels like standing in the rain just to wash off emotion. You listen, and you’re in Spokane. But also not. You’re in that liminal space between guilt and grace, teetering on the edge of healing.
The instrumentation? Lush enough to feel like wearing headphones made of fog. But what lingers most is the simplicity—every melody feels like it’s being handed to you, not for your ears, but for your insides. Folk-pop snuggled inside indie warmth, without overstating its own beauty. Healing, in the end, can be quiet.
Themes of loneliness? Yeah. Shame? Absolutely. Cedar has a way of drawing them both out without screaming. It’s more like opening a door for them but leaving them on the threshold. There’s a bit of spirituality here too, not in a “church” sense, but in the you-versus-your-demons way that has you questioning what comes after that last chord fades.
You know that moment when you forget where you parked, but you’re oddly okay with it? That’s “Coming Home.” Cedar wrote it while traveling, but it sounds like an arrival.
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