SUSAN MURANTY
HUSH HUSH BIZ SINGLE REVIEW
Summer Moon
Susan Muranty’s Summer Moon is the kind of track that sneaks up on you. At first listen, it’s all warmth and subtlety, the kind of late-night ballad that could easily slip into the background of a quiet evening. But listen closer, and you’ll find that this song has teeth. It’s not just a soft-focus ode to moonlit nights—it’s a carefully constructed meditation on the pull of nature, the weight of emotions, and the connection we all share under the same sky. The song opens with a clean guitar riff that immediately sets the tone—this is going to be intimate, stripped back, but full of depth. Muranty’s voice enters softly, but there’s a strength to it, a quiet confidence that suggests she’s in full control of the journey she’s about to take you on. The verses are sparse, almost conversational, as if Muranty is speaking directly to you, sharing a moment of vulnerability. ‘Darkness falls like a blanket,’ she sings, and the imagery is immediate, evocative. You can see the night closing in, feel the cool air on your skin. But it’s the chorus where the song really takes off. ‘I’m not singing lullabies, no way. I’m throwing off the night into the Milky Way,’ Muranty declares, and suddenly, the song expands. The production, which had been subtle up to this point, swells along with her voice, creating a sense of release, of letting go. It’s a cathartic moment, but it never feels forced. The song’s power comes from its restraint, from the way it builds slowly, deliberately, until it finally bursts open in the chorus.
Lyrically, Summer Moon is rich with poetic imagery. Muranty has a way of making the cosmic feel personal, of turning the night sky into a metaphor for longing and connection. ‘I know you’re out there somewhere, under the summer moon,’ she sings, and it’s both a statement and a question, a recognition of the distance between people but also the shared experience of looking up at the same sky. The production, handled by Golden Guitar winner Michael Carpenter, is lush without being overbearing. There are hints of retro balladry here—echoes of classic 70s pop—but it never feels derivative. Instead, the production serves the song’s emotional core, allowing Muranty’s voice and lyrics to take centre stage. The guitar work is particularly effective, adding texture and depth without ever overshadowing the vocals. In a musical landscape that often prioritizes immediacy and impact, Summer Moon is a slow burn, a song that rewards repeated listens. It’s the kind of track that feels timeless, like it could have been released at any point in the last 50 years and still feel relevant.
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