Ezra Vancil always writes like someone who keeps his heart in the open air. When he last appeared here with “Babylove,” he stood in the wreckage of heartbreak, trying to make sense of the pieces. Now with “Island,” the second single from his double album “Morning & Midnight,” he steps onto a shoreline washed clean. The transformation is striking and deeply moving. “Island” dropped on November 7, and I’m here to break it down for you. Continue reading to grasp my thoughts and understand the meaning of the song.
Just as a good folk song is supposed to sound, “Island” opens with a hush so gentle it feels like the very moment the sun breaks the ocean’s horizon. Soft guitar textures and Vancil’s voice enter with a quiet confidence, as if he’s tiptoeing into a memory he’s not ready to disturb. It’s an undeniably beautiful opening. It’s warm, unhurried, and tender in the way it invites you closer.
The opening lines, “When I make it back to the island, I hope I’m young enough for the fun,” land like a deep breath after years of holding one in. There’s longing here, but not the trembling kind. This is longing softened by peace, the kind that allows joy to return. Vancil’s vocal delivery here is one of the song’s finest elements. He leans into intimacy and lets his phrasing loosen and warm, making lines like “Waves of love will play on in our heads” feel like they’re spoken between two people lying barefoot in the sand. And when his daughter Cozi’s harmonies come drifting in, the song becomes more vulnerable: not just a recollection of family, but a piece of it.
Speaking from a lyrical view, “Island” isn’t about escaping life but returning to it. The imagery of shells, piers, ocean breezes, and hidden dreams becomes a metaphor for revival, for the ways families rebuild themselves through small, perfect moments. The line “Streams will wash away our sorrows. On the beaches of tomorrow” is quintessential Vancil: hopeful, a little wistful, but anchored in the belief that healing is possible. When he slips into Spanish with lines like “Oh, te quiero, mi mamacita… No más por mí, margaritas. I’d rather lay beside you in bed.” The song becomes affectionate, familiar, and lived-in. These are the words of someone who has survived the heaviness and now chooses gentleness every time.
Recorded in a cabin in the East Texas woods, the production embraces the folk heart of Ezra’s songwriting while widening the horizon with indie shimmer. The acoustic guitar sets the emotional foundation, while Ty Richards’ electric guitar adds a delicate glint, like sunlight hitting moving water. Jon Estes’ bass is warm and earthy, Chris Brush’s drums feel patient and restrained, and JP Ruggieri’s final mix wraps everything in tactile and organic softness. This is folk music that breathes and remembers.
If this is your first time being introduced to Ezra Vancil, he’s a Texas folk alchemist who can take grief, memory, and the ordinary details of family life and distill them into mythic songs without abandoning their humanity. He records like a storyteller around a fire, writes like a poet who’s been through the dark, and sings like a man who’s found morning again. Listening to “Island” feels like watching someone you care about finally smile after a long winter. It’s gentle, melodic, and profoundly human. Vancil doesn’t just sing about love; he sings about earning it, losing it, and choosing it again. And in doing so, he gives us a folk song that feels like sunlight warming the skin. This is Ezra Vancil stepping into the morning, and it’s beautiful.
Listen to “Babylove” on Spotify
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