Junaco’s second full-length album, “In Motion,” was written in a yurt, an actual circular structure on the banks of the Smith River in Northern California. For a week in winter, the musicians lived there with no internet, limited daylight, and a wood stove that demanded daily tending.
Nights often ended with plunges into the icy river or long sauna sessions, rituals that deepened the sense of isolation and creativity. They lived together, cooked together, and wrote together. The songs came quickly, shaped by the rhythm of the place and the absence of distraction.
Later, the record was tracked at Sonic Ranch in El Paso, Texas, a studio nestled among pecan trees and long silences. The band self-produced, with Mario Ramirez as engineer. Most sessions unfolded in the live room, the musicians seated close together, playing until each song naturally found its form. There’s no sense of over-arrangement here. The recordings feel lived-in, shaped by proximity and repetition more than polish.
“In Motion” is not a concept album, yet it traces a clear emotional arc. The songs drift through shifts in geography, relationships, and internal weather. There’s no thesis, no dramatic reveal, just a steady accumulation of detail and tone. It’s intimate without being confessional, rooted in memory and physical space. With 12 tracks, the album feels like the perfect journey; not too short, not too long, just right.
Shahana Jaffer’s vocals arrive in pastel tones, bringing warmth and intimacy to the instruments, though they hardly feel cold themselves. What stands out is how seamlessly every layer of sound intertwines, as if crafted by a meticulous hand with obsessive attention to detail. This cohesion shines in tracks like “Escape,” “Turn Around,” and the almost-instrumental “Realize.”
“Time To Run” stands out for its clarity and weight. It was written by Shahana, herself of Pakistani origin, in response to learning about her mother’s departure from her native Pakistan, a story marked by risk, loss, and endurance. Rather than dramatizing the experience, it holds space for it. A quiet tension lingers in the arrangement, suggesting an attempt to grasp something ultimately beyond full understanding. It’s a reflection, not a retelling.
Oliver Hill’s string arrangements lend the album a sense of closure without softening its edges. Jake Aron, who previously mixed Junaco’s “Without A Head” EP, returned to handle the mix, and Heba Kadry mastered the record with a delicate hand that preserved its texture. Joey LaRosa’s drumming deserves special mention: the jazzy energy elevates the band’s sound, injecting a streak of wild unpredictability into the more subdued indie-folk core identity. The whole album feels precise and deliberate, with every contributor in sync.
