It might seem strange to mention a time three decades ago when discussing exciting music in the modern media landscape, but Sunday (1994) justify the contradiction. Take the saddest day of the week, combine it with an era of film now much adored, and you have the moniker of creative duo and real-life couple Paige Turner and Lee Newell. Although both have weaved multi-disciplinary talents throughout a decade of artistic ventures, they had always dreamed of working side-by-side but didn't expect it to happen when it finally did.

"We had talked about it for a long time, but we hadn't written the song that was gonna kick-start everything and inspire more to come," Paige remembers. Learning guitar under the guidance of her partner, she began to strum a simple chord sequence that would quickly domino into an entire discography. "When we wrote 'Tired Boy', we both knew that we enjoyed it; it came easily and naturally, and we had nothing else to do during COVID anyway. So, we wrote another one the next day – and fuck, we like this one as well!"

"We wanted to start a band from the moment that we met, but we procrastinated a bit over the years because we wanted it to be 'perfect', and of course, that's stupid; it can never be perfect," Lee declares. Letting go of that need for immediate completeness became the key to capitalising on all the ideas they'd been ruminating on. "We knew we had a lot of things we wanted to say, or at least we knew how we wanted to say them. It just took us ten years to articulate ourselves in the way we wanted to."

With a back catalogue building itself, the pair had done a lot of the work already – but these songs wouldn't see the light of day until early 2024, over three years later.

"Life got in the way," Paige admits. "We were trying to survive and make money to live, so we couldn't focus on being in a brand new band. We didn't just wake up and have the means to do all of this; we had to plan it out and be patient."

Lee continues: "For a long time, we were doing anything – whether it was music for a commercial, writing songs for other artists, graphic design. We were doing everything we could, and any spare money was going into this. Over the years, we've accumulated these skills and material things to do what we wanted to do."

Taking the time to manifest their vision into reality has paid off in droves, and you can hear the careful curation of each note within Sunday (1994)'s self-titled debut EP. This level of cohesion arrives as a first impression so very rarely, with a heightened level of immersion enabled by the elongated brewing of ideas. Bittersweet melodies, melancholic delivery, slick and minimalist instrumentation – the Americana aesthetic and downtrodden attitude reaches for a unique form of escapism, something that fans have instantly latched onto.

"It sounds tripe but is sadly very true: music is my number one vehicle of escape," Lee shares. "My favourite times are right before bed with headphones on or right after I've woken up; that's when I get lost. Those are the moments that I do feel like I'm escaping life, and it's where a lot of lyrical ideas form."

"I feel like I'm constantly trying to escape," Paige jests. "Our lives are so regular and mundane that we're trying to glamorise it in some way through the music. With some of the songs, we're zooming in on very specific things that we're going through which are so ordinary."

Finding splendour in simplicity has allowed the pair to emphasise their strengths while being themselves without pretence. Not reaching for any monumental ambition ("yet!") or trying to predict audience preferences, they instead focus on spinning small, detailed stories that build up an intricacy of identity which is impossible to fake. Guiding listeners through a variety of dream-like tales, Sunday (1994) also leave room to project your own experiences and revel in the potency of mutual emotion.

"I think restraint is an art form in itself, to hold back a little and not force a narrative, not force a feeling," Lee says. "Instead of telling a listener what to feel, simply telling them what you're feeling can be more moving." If you just recount a set of feelings that is a better way of articulating a mood or notion rather than dictating it. Less is more." This is applied across all aspects of the project, from their words and imagery to the animated soundscapes, which achieve blissful balance by limiting the number of instruments throughout.

"It all comes with experience as well," Paige stresses. "Maybe ten years ago, I would write something similar to whatever was in vogue; now, with all that experience of writing so many different kinds of songs, we're able to write directly from the heart. Even if it's a topic that feels like, is this too nice? Am I being too specific? There's someone out there who is going through the same."

In a world where artists are expected to have it all figured out as teenagers and know not only their creative identity, but how to cope with the pressures of presenting it, it's more refreshing to see people who have taken their time in figuring it out. It then becomes more fulfilling for them, of course, but also richer for the listener – the artists know more about who they are and what they can do.

"After going through a lot of heartbreak within any field, if at the end of it you still want to keep going, that says a lot," Lee affirms. "I don't think suffering for your art is a pre-requisite, but I don't think it hurts. You find out who you really are when you struggle. We're figuring out who we are now."

That journey of exploration and discovery is documented on the EP, and emotions run high, but not always in the way you'd expect. Take 'Blonde', a tale about watching your man leave you for a younger, prettier model – rather than being angry at her ex or bitter towards the new woman, feelings are internalised and self-directed as Paige fulfils a fantasy in her mind.

She recounts, "When you're young and experiencing something like that, you can't help but think: what's wrong with me? Why do they want someone else? There must be something wrong with me. That's a trait we both have in common; we both constantly think everybody hates us."

'The Loneliness Of The Flight Home' puts Paige in Lee's mind as he pens his sorrows during a particularly dreary journey to the UK, and this magical fusion of minds shows off the band's transatlantic appeal. It also highlights the main draw of Sunday (1994): the infatuated, complex couple at the centre of it all.

"Paige is so much better at articulating how I feel than I am," Lee praises. "We've unlocked another level to our relationship, and I feel like I learn more about Paige through our music. It's been fascinating and I feel super lucky to be able to do this together."

There are some complexities to this, as Paige recognises. "I feel bad for other people who come into working with us because we have to try hard to make it not be just us two against everybody else. It's an interesting dynamic."

It's good that the duo are used to spending time together because there's plenty more of that to come – after selling out their debut live shows in the UK and the US, they are lined up to hit the big stages in support of girl in red. On top of all that, and recently expanding their EP with a deluxe rerelease, they are now formulating new music to expand their world.

While they try to ignore overthinking any outside opinions and stick to the fundamentals ("if we both like it, then that's it"), Paige and Lee are both bolstered by the support they have been shown. "The main way our new music has been coloured is that we feel more confident," Lee says. "Everything feels a little more technicolour, just more of what it already is." Meanwhile, Paige is ready to let loose: "I'm not as nervous to say anything that's out of left field; the fans have shown us that they get it. Time to say some weird shit."