Conceived in a cabin overlooking the Delaware River in upstate New York, Son Little’s latest album, Like Neptune, trades in the existential dread permeating previous work for unbridled joy and self-acceptance. In this verdant space of freedom, Son Little transmutes the chronic pain of self-doubt into a beautiful opus about overcoming generational trauma, decorating the altar of the primordial blues and elevating the labor of healing to high art.  "In the beginning of lockdown, I went into a closet full of junk and found a couple of boxes full of my old writing books,” Livingston explained. “There turned out to be 72 books in there.” “The oldest book I got as a Christmas present when I was 9,” he continued. “In it, I wrote letters to myself about what was happening in my life. One page refers to a neighbor in Queens who abused me sexually around age 5. It was the first and only time I’d ever acknowledge this fact until after my 19th birthday, when I told my mother what had happened. She begged me go to therapy. I went under protest. My attempt wasn’t sincere. I wasn’t ready. I thought I could just power through it.”