A while ago, a friend of mine posted a link to a song on Facebook. The name of the artist baffled me.

“Saint Pepsi?” I said. “Seriously?”

I am quick to judge and bother him when surrounded by our mutual acquaintances, yet I secretly respect his taste in music, thus I decided to give this unknown band a try; I thought they could at least sound better than their name.

They do.

Their EP “Fiona Coyne/Fall Harder,” for a variety of reasons, reminds me of the 18 summers I spent in my home country before I attended WSU.

The first track emanates a sound that places recollections on a silver screen — stories and images dance around with elegance. Every warm season features at least one life-altering moment; Coyne manages to awaken those dormant memories and arrange them in chronological order as they flash in front of one’s eyes. One might relive a heartbreak, or experience the first time they felt the battering of waves on a shore as if it occurred the day before.

Some might refer to this phenomenon as nostalgia, though I believe Saint Pepsi achieves something beyond common melancholy. Without a familiar sound, the group triumphs as it delivers one’s long-forgotten successes and failures, and helps one relate them to an abrasive, ferocious sun that smothers all that falls within the periphery of its barbarous warmth, as mere earthlings escape its clutch in playful manner by jumping into a cold pool and splash trickles of water on those who would rather lie down and find peace underneath the heat.

I spotted myself among the people in the pool. Up until my 15th summer, the aforementioned season served as an excuse to celebrate the joy of lacking major responsibilities, and I found comfort in floating around the pool without a single worry on my mind.

For four minutes and four seconds, Coyne returns that notion to its rightful owner, and reminds us that our reminiscences remain within a few clicks on Spotify.

While the first tune evokes occurrences that might take place during a hot summer day, I interpret “Fall Harder” as its nightly counterpart.

Warm nights in Wichita differ from what I’ve known my whole life — humidity, predictability and an everlasting breeze that keeps the Peruvian weatherman from announcing a genuine heat wave. “Fall Harder,” while not as intense as the track that precedes it, also triumphs in its attempt to generate a sense of rediscovery.