As We’re Getting Closer to the Sun begins, Johnny J. Blair calls it a “non-dystopian spiritual sci-fi project.” Right away, you feel the world shifting. It’s as if the ground is ready for a quiet change.
The change isn’t loud or sudden, but it lingers like the calm before a summer storm or the moment sunlight can’t be ignored.
Blair, who grew up in Pennsylvania and now lives in San Francisco, starts the album with “It’s Going to Be Different Today.” Rather than announcing change with volume, he allows it to arrive quietly. The guitars shine with hope, and his voice quivers a bit, as though he’s quietly comforting both himself and us. This opening feels hopeful, tinged with a touch of doubt. (“Today is going to be different today… Ooh, things are getting better. It says so in your letter. Everyone’s fine, right down the line.”)
That feeling of tension stays in “Changing of the Guard,” where change takes center stage. The first song wonders if things will change. This one knows they already have. The music becomes clearer and more focused. Blair watches time passing, both taking part and watching. The “guard” changes not just in the outside world but also inside us—across generations, creativity, and maybe even the soul.
With “Letting Go,” the album eases. Here, Blair sets aside cosmic questions and opens up to feelings of weakness. The melody moves gently but steadily, making its emotion unmistakable. In this song, the album reveals what the space themes have hidden: letting go is tough and needs a quiet kind of courage. At this point, the Sun shifts from a distant symbol to something tangible—like warmth radiating on your skin.
As that feeling settles, Blair shifts direction with “Collo & The NY Spaceboys.” At just over a minute in length, the track feels like a half-remembered memory. It’s more of a piece than a full song—like finding an old cassette with a blurry label. It introduces the Interstellar Subway Buskers not as a big idea but as a story already in progress. The result is a pleasant confusion: suddenly, the album feels less like a group of songs and more like a view into a large, strange world.
“They Were There For You” gently brings the album back to solid ground. One of the warmest moments is anchored in gratitude, not just lofty ideas. As the space themes recede, there’s room for what feels immediate and true. Where earlier songs reflected on change and distance, this one rejoices in presence—those who stayed, who truly mattered. Beneath all the album’s larger concepts sits a heart filled with human feeling.
Next is the title track, “We’re Getting Closer to the Sun,” with Chris von Sneidern, and everything becomes clear. This is the album’s strongest moment, both in music and message. The melody rises. The music becomes sharper. Blair finally faces the idea he’s been thinking about: the closer you get to what you want, the more you risk being overwhelmed. There is excitement, but also a feeling of danger. Now, the Sun is not just a symbol. It is about closeness, intensity, and what comes with it. (“We’re getting closer to the Sun, guided by the stars making song, climb on board, and we’ll sing along”)
Covering “Space Oddity” is always a brave choice, especially on an album full of space themes. Blair avoids the usual way and makes it feel like a group effort, not just a tribute. With Prairie Prince and others, the track becomes a group of musicians sharing a style that David Bowie began. This puts Blair among artists who use space to explore loneliness, wonder, and distance rather than simply copying Bowie.
After this, the album begins to blur. “Captain Mike & The Interstellar Subway Buskers” feels like a half-remembered talk, while the Buskers’ story seems strange and dreamlike. Rather than telling a clear story, the focus shifts to mood and feeling. The characters and their stories feel real, even if we don’t fully understand them.
“A Place Across the Sky,” featuring Mike Roe, offers one of the album’s understated emotional peaks. Eschewing grandiosity, it gives space for longing to surface. Something nearly spiritual plays out in the restraint—a yearning that reaches not just across space, but feeling and meaning. If the Sun embodies intensity, this song faces past it, seeking something gentler and more lasting.
With “I See the Angels Coming ‘Round,” the album finally expands. If you have this on CD, it’s the final track. The song lasts over six minutes; during that time, it grows and changes. Rather than following a traditional structure, it unfolds slowly. Blair’s voice weaves through layers of sound, always reaching for something just out of reach. When the song settles, the album arrives at its emotional high point—not with a loud moment, but by spreading out like light filling a room. Just when you think you’ve figured out the album, it shifts direction.
The last tracks, including remixes, alternate versions, and more Buskers material, don’t feel like extras. Instead, they feel like different versions of reality. The single edit of “It’s Going to Be Different Today” makes the opening more direct and almost ready for radio, while the alternate version of the title track gives it a deeper feeling. These versions don’t compete. They sit side by side, showing that these songs can take many forms.
Meanwhile, the Interstellar Subway Buskers material becomes even richer. “Star Child & The Interstellar Subway Buskers” and “Spacecraft Over the Glaciers” sound like messages from another time: low-quality, broken, and full of made-up nostalgia.
When “Opus – Arrival of The Interstellar Subway Buskers (Lo-Fi 1975 NY Jam)” plays, the album turns into pure mood. These thirteen minutes feel less like an ending and more like searching through old memories.
That’s when everything finally comes together.
We’re Getting Closer to the Sun isn’t only about heading toward something bright and risky. It’s about gathering moments, versions, memories, and stories along the way. The Sun is just one goal. The real story is what happens as you move closer: the people you bring, the parts of yourself you leave behind, the different paths you imagine, and the echoes you make.
Blair doesn’t end the album with a clear finish. Instead, he leaves you inside the journey. You haven’t reached the Sun yet; you’re still moving toward it, surrounded by memories of your past.
And somehow, that feels just right.
8.6/10.0, Chris Garrod, April 14, 2026
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