If there’s one thing The Sunmills have mastered, it’s the art of turning emotional wreckage into something that sounds like it belongs on a mixtape you blast on a road trip through your own bad decisions. The Highland, Utah-based trio has officially planted their flag in the alternative rock scene with the release of their debut album The Art of Burning Bridges, and it’s as gloriously chaotic as its title suggests. Released on May 9, 2025, this eight-track powerhouse is a masterclass in emotional sabotage, delivered with a wink, a guitar solo, and the distinct smell of gasoline on already smoldering ties.
Kicking off with Take Me Away, the band wastes no time pulling listeners into their signature sound—dirty guitars, explosive drums, and a vocal tone that splits the difference between earnest plea and exasperated scream. It’s the perfect opening track: an escape anthem for anyone who’s ever wanted to ghost their own problems with the volume up to eleven. From the start, it’s clear that The Sunmills aren’t afraid to say the things most of us only scream into our pillows.
That same unfiltered honesty pulses through Not Going Home, a bass-driven, slow-burning number that might be the album’s emotional low point—though it still somehow manages to sound like a stadium anthem. The band’s genius lies in their ability to bury gut punches under swagger and groove. They never wallow, but they never gloss over the ache either. That balancing act keeps the album grounded even as it spirals.
Then comes Rock and Roll, the band’s rowdiest offering—a blistering tribute to the genre that raised them. It’s drenched in Hendrix-esque riffs and the raw funkiness of early Chili Peppers, but with a modern sense of humor and a lyrical nod to the absurdity of trying to live like a rockstar when you can barely hold down a relationship. “I tried to sell my soul for a Spotify hit,” the lead singer snarls. “Turns out even the devil swiped left.” That’s The Sunmills in a nutshell: self-aware, self-deprecating, and somehow still completely sincere.
The emotional and sonic centerpiece of the album, Burning Bridges, hits like a breakup text wrapped in fireworks. It’s both cathartic and combustive, packed with guitar licks that burn through the speakers and lyrics that suggest someone’s been scrolling through their own therapy notes at 2 a.m. before turning them into a chorus. There’s a twisted kind of liberation in the way the band leans into the fallout, almost celebrating the destruction with every beat.
Whispering Words offers a rare moment of restraint. Stripped-down and almost delicate (at least by Sunmills standards), it peels back some of the noise to expose a vulnerable undercurrent. But even here, sarcasm creeps in like a defense mechanism—the kind you develop after getting ghosted by someone who told you they “weren’t ready for anything serious,” then posted engagement photos three months later.
On Sucks To Be You, they turn bitterness into a banger. It’s catchy, venomous, and hilarious—a kiss-off anthem with a beat that dares you not to dance. The band doesn’t just burn bridges; they toss fireworks across them as they walk away in slow motion. By the time Hey Now Cindy rolls in, you’re half-expecting another scorched-earth breakup track, but what you get is something surprisingly sweet—at least until the chorus kicks in and reminds you that this band doesn’t do soft edges without a hidden blade.
Finally, Johnny Appleseed closes the album like a last call toast—reflective, chaotic, a little sad, and entirely unforgettable. It’s a fitting end to an album that doesn’t try to resolve anything neatly. Instead, it leans into the mess of modern relationships and personal shortcomings and finds catharsis in volume, humor, and just enough groove to keep you coming back.
The Sunmills may be new on the scene, but The Art of Burning Bridges proves they’re already masters of turning personal drama into communal therapy. Their music is big, bold, and brash, but what truly sets them apart is their ability to mix gut-level honesty with biting wit and addictive hooks. They might be allergic to emotional stability, but damn if they don’t make it sound like a good time.
So light a match, turn it up, and let The Art of Burning Bridges be the soundtrack to your next impulsive decision. Just don’t blame The Sunmills when you end up texting your ex.
