Even voorstellen – Thee Sinseers – Love story

THEE SINSEERS “LOVE STORY” 18/09 (colemine records/konkurrent)
“did ya know?” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJtMF9UA0NA

Live Trix Antwerp  27 sept 26

Catching up with Thee Sinseers ahead of their new Colemine Records release, Love Stories, one thing becomes abundantly clear: this is not an LP that explores a neat and tidy love story.

The vision of love put forth on this record is full-spectrum. Think of the seminal 1993 East LA film Blood In Blood Out — three protagonists bound together through hardship, strife, and diverging roads, who ultimately circle back to reckon with why they remain. It's a similar story here. Love Stories isn't interested in the happy ending. It's interested in everything that comes before it, after it, and in spite of it.

Of course, none of this is accidental. More than a new record, Love Stories is a portrait of a band that has finally grown into itself — one that knows exactly who it is and isn't shy about saying so. As Quiñones puts it: "It's a solidifying statement of where we are now. This is our style."

Bassist Christopher Manjarrez described that confidence as something you can hear: "Everything was just that notch up." In contrast to Sinseerly Yours, which had developed organically from a four-piece into an eleven-member ensemble, Love Stories was built from the ground up as a collective effort — every role established before the band entered the studio. "We went in knowing these are the roles that are gonna be played by these people," Quiñones says. "Everybody was considered wholeheartedly in every arrangement aspect."

That collective approach extended into the sonic choices themselves. Every member zoomed out — listening not just to their own parts but to the record as a whole, what Quiñones calls thinking like "a beautiful painting" rather than a collection of individual tracks. With that foundation in place, the band handed the final mix to engineer Kelly Finnigan. "We could get so far with our opinions," Quiñones admits, "but at the end of the day there's still 10 or 11 of us trying to figure out what's right." The band also leaned into earthier instrumentation — standup bass, guitars run through amplifiers for a warmer sixties-adjacent tone — pulling inspiration from wherever it presented itself, even the most unlikely of places. It's that cross-genre thinking that Quiñones sees as the record's defining quality. "It didn't feel like we were making soul music at any point," he says. "It felt like we were making our music."

But the sonic ambition of Love Stories only tells half the story. The band sought to capture something more honest than a highlight reel — showcasing the highs and lows of romantic relationships while expanding the frame to include the familial, the complicated, and the unresolved. On "Let's Fall In Love (Again)," Quiñones's protagonist pleads for a second chance before stopping mid-song to acknowledge his own role in the heartbreak — trading wishful fantasy for something far more honest. It's that kind of emotional candor that runs throughout the record. The band's parents appear in the album art, their own love stories folded into the record's visual identity, some of those stories still standing, others not. As Manjarrez puts it: "Every single song title directs you down a different road of love — whether you win or lose." Quiñones wanted listeners to sit with that ambiguity. "Love is never-ending," he says. "It stretches beyond lifetimes. I want people to still be confused — I want it to be left like an open book."

To achieve what they're reaching for, every member of Thee Sinseers has had to check their ego at the door — and mean it. "The sense of ego is, in a weird way, non-existent when it comes to recording and writing," Quiñones says. "We're all fans of each other at the end of the day." It's the kind of trust earned on the road, forged through years of shared miles and close quarters — and reflected in a lineup that welcomed new additions seamlessly, including expanded roles for familiar faces and string arrangements from newcomer Skip Heller that push the songs into new territory.

That spirit of trust extends to their partnership with Colemine Records, built on patience and creative freedom. "Terry's like a homie," Quiñones says. "He gives us his input but we get a lot of freedom because he trusts us." For a band still actively defining itself on its own terms, that kind of label support isn't just appreciated — it's essential.

Yet one thing remains constant throughout: Thee Sinseers' commitment to where they come from. That East LA identity doesn't announce itself — it simply exists, woven into the fabric of the music without being worn as a badge. As Francisco Flores puts it: "We're from here. You can hear it a thousand miles away. You can't deny it — but we don't try to. It just comes out that way." Nowhere is that more apparent than on "Minute by Minute," which Quiñones describes as the album's most neighborhood-feeling moment — a slow dance number that conjures the gymnasiums of Roosevelt and Garfield High, intimate and unhurried, like a memory you didn't know you were making. There's no performance of heartbreak here, just the real thing.

Like an unsent love letter finally delivered, Love Stories carries the weight of everything that was felt but never quite said. The universality of that feeling is perhaps best captured in Quiñones's own words: "It's never too late to change. It's never too late to tell a person you love that you love them." After any song on this record, Eric Johnson says, there's really only one appropriate response. "Damn."

"Oh Love"  The opening track of Love Stories begins with earnest horns rising like the first notes of a sermon, before the band's signature East Los guitar groove settles in and cascading vocal harmonies take over, riding against the crisp rat-a-tat of the percussion. The sound lives at the crossroads of early rock and roll and R&B — think the twangy dexterity of Mickey & Sylvia meets the tender soul of Otis Redding, with the warm, windswept feeling of Freddy Fender running throughout. Supercharged by full horn accompaniment, it's a daydream and a rallying cry at once — a reminder that if everyone could feel the full weight of love, the world would be a more tender place.
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"Did Ya Know?" A jaunty guitar groove opens things up before "Did Ya Know?" eases into its sleek, sunny pocket, buoyed by a playful organ that's warm and a little mischievous. It calls to mind the smooth sweetness of "These Eyes" by the Guess Who crossed with a sunshine reggae lilt — cool, unhurried, and completely effortless. The lyrics carry a fluency in early R&B that's become a Sinseers hallmark, and every so often the band pulls off one of those quietly dazzling instrumental turns that reminds you just how deep the well goes.

"Let's Fall In Love (Again)" Lush and dreamy from the first note — a soft drum roll gives way to perfectly picked guitar — "Let's Fall In Love (Again)" finds Joey Quiñones pleading with the lover of his dreams to let bygones be bygones. The arrangement is alive in every corner, with güiro, triangle, and vibraslap threading through the song like small, insistent heartbeats, highlighted by warm backup harmonies. But midway through, his protagonist fesses up, acknowledging that his own misgivings were the source of the sadness and pain, trading wishful fantasy for something far more honest. It's the kind of emotional turn that makes the sweetness of the surrounding arrangement hit that much harder.

"There She Goes" "There She Goes" arrives in full panoramic sound — western reverb guitar shimmering like a desert sunset at the edges, horns bringing a sweeping big-band grandeur to the center, with the Delfonics, Chi-Lites, and Stylistics as its soul orchestration touchstones. The protagonist is searching for a way to mend a broken heart, and what makes the track land is how human that search feels — held up by a call-and-response between Quiñones and the band that moves between longing and resolve like a conversation with yourself at 2

a.m. There's no performance of heartbreak here, just the real thing.

"How Lonely Is Lonely"  Like a burst of sunshine breaking through, the opening notes arrive on a soft snare beat, a twinkle of keys, and the light, airy flutter of a muted horn completing the picture. The sound sits somewhere between Brenton Wood's breezy West Coast soul and Alton Ellis's honeyed reggae sweetness — Quiñones toggling effortlessly between the two worlds in a single song. The lyrics follow a protagonist worn down by a woman who can't make up her mind, the two forever out of sync, never quite landing on the same page at the same moment. By the second verse, Quiñones lets loose in one of his signature emotional howls — raw and searching, the sound of someone who has hit the bottom and is pleading not to be left there.