In the streaming era, where singles come and go with the swipe of a finger, Miles Jenson is leaning into something more layered—less immediate, more disquieting. His new single “Sunshine Goldmine” is not built for playlists. It’s built for the mind’s darker corners.

The track—produced by Grammy-winner King Garbage—is steeped in mood and contradiction. A stark piano melody unspools over minimalist beats and cinematic strings, grounding Jenson’s story of a drug-fueled teenage experience that left him suspended somewhere between euphoria and detachment. The moment becomes metaphor: a meditation on how the chase for peace so often leads us further into disarray.

“I thought I was doing coke and it turned out to be ketamine,” Jenson says, not for shock value, but as context for how quickly the ground beneath us can shift. That disorientation runs through every note of “Sunshine Goldmine,” from its fractured arrangement to its whispered refrains. The song’s beauty isn’t in resolution, but in its ability to sit with uncertainty.

Jenson’s approach to songwriting lands somewhere between soul confessional and experimental theater. His earlier single “Country Club” paired sly humor with pointed commentary about class and race in media. But “Sunshine Goldmine” trades irony for immersion. The track feels like a dream you didn’t want to have, but can’t stop replaying.

Much of that impact comes from the creative trust Jenson has found with King Garbage, who helped shape the EP as a tightly focused, three-song statement. While short on runtime, Sunshine Goldmine feels expansive in tone, addressing addiction, social illusion, and the shaky business of becoming yourself.

This is Jenson’s first proper body of work, but it doesn’t read like an introduction. It reads like a reckoning. There’s no commercial sheen, no sonic compromise. Just someone speaking into the void and daring you to listen closely.

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