Gig review: Sunday (1994) at Rescue Rooms

For a group that only put out their debut single Tired Boy last year, this level of commitment borders on the uncanny: at their shows, you’ll spot people with a small black cross drawn on their cheek, echoing singer Paige Turner’s own makeup, and prairie dresses drifting through the crowd. Then again, Sunday (1994) have never operated like a band just starting out. They’ve built a whole world, and everyone here seems more than happy to step inside it...

Matt-Felix wanders onstage with the suave surety of a Gallagher, suited and booted like Heely, yet what followed was an impressively polished set from someone who’s clearly had a musical upbringing involving more graft than swagger. Think 70s baroque pop flourishes and emotive lyricism, all delivered with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.

Sure, the performance had a certain choreographed sheen – not quite the scrappy DIY spirit this stage usually nurtures – but when the songs themselves sparkle, you can forgive a bit of polish. Shoutout to the lovely lad in the beer garden who was genuinely moved to tears: "That was the most beautiful band I have ever heard in my entire life? Such a beautiful man with beautiful music.”

With tracks like the towering Change standing out as proper gold, it’s hard not to feel like Matt-Felix is only a couple more gigs away from everyone else catching on.

This palette of promise is heightened as the stage lighting simmers into the crushed pink that has become a signature of Sunday (1994)'s EP artwork. Onstage, Paige Turner is all precision and atmosphere; there’s a quiet confidence to her, the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself because the crowd already knows what she can do.

Guitarist and co-founder Lee Newell brings an entirely different energy – a little looser, a little rougher around the edges – like he’s played this venue a hundred times before, despite this only being their second Nottingham appearance. It helps that he’s British, Slough-born, which gives their LA base a strange but charming grounding. The band feel international without being distant; cinematic without losing their hometown warmth.

With only 15 songs released, the setlist was predictable in the best way: they played everything. No deep cuts, no unheard demos, no hints of what’s next – just the complete Sunday (1994) universe as it currently exists – and when each track is this meticulously crafted, this unmistakably theirs, ‘just’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting. These songs don’t need surprises.

The way Stained Glass Window bleeds straight into Silver Ford creates a narrative arc you could physically feel moving through the room, tracing Paige’s journey from damage to hope: “That last song was my personal favourite but it’s a bit bleak, so this the happy ending.”

What’s astounding is how fully realised they already sound and how cohesive the catalogue feels for a band so early in their public life. That’s the benefit of Turner and Newell spending a decade writing together before anyone knew who they were. No filler, no fluff, and every track feels like a deliberate piece of their identity. Live, that identity hits even harder. Turner and Newell’s voices lock together with a sort of inevitable chemistry, the kind that could only come from years of collaboration layered over the spark that originally brought them together; the harmonies are lush without being saccharine, emotional without sliding into melodrama, precise without losing their edge.

“We’re going need a longer cheer than that!” Newell hollers after a particularly  spellbinding showcase of lighting and lyricism on Rain. “I’m just going to keep doing that until we reach the hour-long cheer mark, like we’re in Cannes.”

The collective intake of breath when the Picking Flowers lyric sign flashed up – “NOTHING STAYS THE SAME” in stark monochrome – was dramatic enough to count as theatre; the Devotion tracks land with similar weight, like entries in a diary the crowd had somehow also lived through. By the final track, the energy hadn’t dipped once.  That’s rare for a young band. Rarer still for one with a one-year-old discography.

When the lights came up, the crowd didn’t just applaud; they lingered, reluctant to break whatever spell they’d collectively conjured. If Sunday (1994) can pull off a night like this with 15 songs and a whirlwind year under their belt, the next chapter is going to be wild. Nottingham will almost certainly get another visit, and judging by the devotion in this room, they could fill it twice over.

Sunday (1994) performed at Rescue Rooms on 13th November 2025, with support from Matt-Felix.

@sunday1994forever