Ecstatic Sunshine

Ecstatic Sunshine
@ Pilot Light, Knoxville, March 16
by Andrew Clayman
Published in The Metro Pulse, March 2008



When Ecstatic Sunshine played the Pilot Light one year ago (see article below), they were the dueling guitar duo of Dustin Wong and Matthew Papich—a pair of Baltimore art students whose spastic finger picking sounded like a mash-up of John Fahey and Dick Dale. The band’s popular live shows featured no rhythm section, just Wong and Papich’s nimble, call-and-response riffing.

Flash forward a year, and things have changed. In fact, to say Ecstatic Sunshine sounds different would be a considerable understatement. And it’s not something as simple as going out and hiring a drummer, either. Instead, Ecstatic Sunshine has gone into what sports fans refer to as “rebuilding mode.” Half of the original line-up (Dustin Wong) is gone, having chosen to focus on his other band, Ponytail. In response, Papich recruited electronics gurus Kieran Gillen and David Zimmerman to help the new Ecstatic Sunshine transition into their much less melodic, considerably more droning, minimalist sound—as featured on the band’s new record, Way. It’s a bit too unnerving at times to be called “ambient,” but one thing’s for sure, there’s nothing riffy about it.

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Ecstatic Sunshine
@ Pilot Light, Knoxville, April 14
by Andrew Clayman
Published in The Metro Pulse, April 2007



In a world without drums and bass, two slightly distorted electric guitars must combine forces to save the fragile damsel called Rock n’ Roll—even if it means destroying each other in the process.

That’s the dramatized synopsis of the unwritten folk tale that is Ecstatic Sunshine—a Baltimore based duo comprised of fingerpicking guitar nerds Matthew Papich and Dustin Wong.

It would be all too easy to peg these guys as pretentious ner’-do-wells, considering their self-righteous rejection of rhythm sections, vocals, and traditional song structures. Truth be told, though, Ecstatic Sunshine play more like reformed punks than elitist art students (despite the fact that they were, in fact, art students).

With their guitars tuned to the jangly frequencies of Television or IRS-era R.E.M., Papich and Wong duel one another with rapid-fire fretboard citations ranging from John Fahey to Dick Dale, with the next left turn always imminent. As clashes go, it’s not too loud or violent, but more sweet and poetic—like kung fu choreography or a Hearns/Hagler bout. And like most things, it’s supposedly twice as good live.