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Originally self-released in 2023, Stella Kola, the debut album from Beverly Ketch (Jow Jow, Weeping Bong Band) and Robert Thomas (Sunburned Hand of the Man, Dalthom), now returns in a renewed edition—bringing wider attention to a record that already felt like a quietly essential artifact from the moment it first appeared.

Given the pair’s respective roots—and the presence of collaborators drawn from across the Northeast experimental underground—one might expect “a brutal blast of acid swirl.” Instead, what emerges is something far more unexpected. The album is “steeped, not in noise and dissonance, but in the fragrant, captivating folk of Linda Perhacs, Judee Sill, Karen Dalton, and Bridget St John.”

From the opening moments, especially on “Rosa,” the record reveals its core sensibility: “a ballad that digs deep into the psychedelic-folk tradition until it takes root in a freshly sporous permaculture.” What follows is a set of songs that feel both carefully assembled and organically grown—delicate structures held together by a wide circle of contributing musicians, including Wednesday Knudsen (flute), P.G. Six (harp, guitars, keys), Gary War (synth), Jen Gellineau (viola, violin), Willie Lane, L. Gray, and others.

Rather than functioning as studio additions, these collaborators form a genuine collective presence. “The family affair feeds into the album’s charms,” and the feeling is unmistakably communal. Like many of the ‘60s folk records it echoes, Stella Kola carries “the feeling of community and camaraderie” at its core, shaping a warmth that runs through the entire release.

The album’s emotional palette leans toward a quiet, persistent melancholy: “the best records from that era also carried with them an inherent sadness and Stella Kola’s songs wash over the listener with a beautiful woe.” Its sound edges into the terrain of Fairport Convention and Pentangle, with references to “Beggar’s, Kings, Dark Damsels, and Tarot,” yet never settles into revivalism. Instead, Ketch and Thomas extend the tradition outward, refracting it through their own distinctly American, underground language.

As one early description of the album notes, “the masterful restraint of ‘Rosa’ and the rest of Stella Kola’s shimmering debut evokes Anne Briggs, C.O.B., Pentangle and similar ancestors that knew the best way to honor traditions was to widen the heritage even further.”

Even among a prolific and unpredictable network of underground musicians, Stella Kola stands apart. “It’s early in the year, but it’s hard to see an album, especially a debut, capturing the heart as hard as this one.” With its return in reissue form, the album reasserts itself not just as a hidden gem, but as an essential document of contemporary folk experimentation—an intimate, collective work that continues to unfold with time.

After two decades in the experimental music scenes of New York and Western Massachusetts, Wednesday Knudsen might be known equally as a sought-after improv collaborator and the vocalist and guitarist for the beloved long-running psych band Pigeons or, more recently, as a member of the New England psych-folk ensemble Stella Kola. Though her forthcoming release, Atrium, is Knudsen’s fifth solo album, it is both her first solo work to appear on vinyl and a double LP, marking her rich recording history with a stunning masterwork. Channeling the “atmosphere of presence” alongside the legions of Éliane Radigue, Hiroshi Yoshimura, and Joanna Brouk, on Atrium, Knudsen plays it all—alto saxophone, flute, guitar, synth, piano, autoharp, bass guitar, and vocals. The collected compositions are studies in the tones, timbres, and pacing particular to the woodland environment of the Taconic Mountains where she lives. Atrium’s tracks are sculptural rather than ambient, with a release into the gorgeous hold of gravity that insists we don’t escape or drift away. This is music for remembering time. This is music that reinforces the power of art as resistance. The songs on Atrium distill our attention in a language that Knudsen calls “the opening of the heart,” reminding us that subsistence and community results from our own actions and engagement with our exterior. Atrium is a refuge, vital in our current moment and imbued with resonant power for our future.

The sophomore effort from Gray/Smith refines their petroleum-based, hard-lullaby sound with a decidedly dusty precision. To call this pair's brand of country-rock détournement "cosmic" would be too breezy: L. Gray and Rob Smith prefer to stare into sunken depths, channeling their recondite affections for lay-by mauve zones and red-dirt guitar wanderings. Formed in the outer-edges of Kings and Richmond counties circa 2020, Gray/Smith is something of an East-Coast involution. L. Gray (guitar and vocals) and Rob Smith (drums, guitar and vocals) are both trusty veterans of "band's bands" like Pigeons (Soft Abuse), No-Neck Blues Band (Revenant, Locust), Rhyton (Thrill Jockey), and The Suntanama (Drag City), freewheeling groups known for mining from polyglot sources: rough-hewn folk and the spiritual avant-garde, bargain-bin hard rock and and collector's-choice psychedelia alike. On their first, self-released LP Gray/Smith, serendipitously recorded at Gary's Electric at the top of 2021, the pair trained their assured chops onto the great American song-form, honing a murky but tight approach that variously cribs "urban cowboy" and finger-picked primitivism. A string of cryptic appearances soon followed, including a short-lived residency at a now-shuttered vodka dive; a micro-tour with Coloradan songstress Josephine Foster; and a series of backyard and barroom gigs sharing stages with compatriots like Stella Kola, Blues Ambush, Samara Lubelski, and Wednesday Knudsen. Heels in the Aisle is the slipshod, burnt-out, mid-'70s unter-prog comedown to their debut's backwoods, bushy-tailed, early-'70s, country-rock meanderings_expect more unrestrained riffs, artful studio wizardry, and worn-down introspection. Joining the ranks of bloodshot-eyed, blues-rock medleys à la Canned Heat's "Parthenogenesis" and Grand Funk's "Into The Sun," "The SDSPS" is the nearly side-length opening cut, an expanded song-cycle condensing and riffing on the themes of their debut. "Help Me" ventriloquizes Pomona College outlaw Kris Kristofferson's slow-roaring ballad of libidinal woe. On the flip side, "Verrazano Tile" and the title track pay heed to lower bays of Staten Island, while their arrangement of the traditional Zimbabwean tune "Guabi Guabi" is a bright Dead/Feat-like jaunt with blissed-out wah-wah pay-off. "Gaslight Boulevard" is lean, mean, and eight-beers-in space rock, and the closing track "Kekule's Ring" is a slack-jawed, wistful crash back down to earth. All this, packaged in a luxe, expertly-printed sleeve photographed by downtown artist Lary 7 and designed by Eric Wrenn (Sophie's Oil of Every Pearl's Un-Insides).