Since her move to the Catskills in 2018, Hannah Cohen hikes with her rescue dog Jan every day. In the woods, they witness the color of change, the verdant resilience of softness and the necessary cycles of demise and vitality. It’s been five years since her last full length record and in that bubble of time, Cohen has learned the patience of her environment; to stay quiet until the noise starts to make sense. Her new collection of songs, Earthstar Mountain, is a keepsake of Cohen's time in the Catskills, built over the course of 2020-2024, as blurred, shimmering memories come into focus to produce a collage of echoes and sonic souvenirs. It’s a love letter to the Catskills but moreso, a love letter to the interconnectedness of all; in her past, present, future and alternative selves, in her friends––here and gone––and in the mountain that peers through her windows.
This mountain is nestled in the center of a creative community. On one side is Cohen and her partner and collaborator Sam Owens––performing under the moniker Sam Evian––and on the other is their carousel of collaborators and friends. Cohen’s parents reside just down the street, and she sees them almost every day––“unusual, I know but we’re an unusual family” she says. Fittingly, after releasing her 2019 album Welcome Home, Cohen and Owens converted their mid-70s home and barn into a studio and retreat, Flying Cloud Recordings. Between sessions with artists like Big Thief, Cass McCombs, Blonde Redhead, Palehound and Helena Deland, tours with Owens and renovations in their home, and the nurturing of new friendships, Cohen maintained her ritual; she found quiet moments with her guitar, with the mountain as her witness.
Drawing from their shared love of Dusty Springfield, Gal Costa, Minnie Riperton, Ennio Morricone, Neil Young and Sly & The Family Stone, Cohen and Owens began to experiment with arrangements that feel both familiar and entirely new. They welcomed friends to the process––Sufjan Stevens, Sean Mullins, Oliver Hill, Claire Cottrill (Clairo) and more––and it was the encouragement of those who most inspired her, and the quietude of her beautiful life, that the pieces of Earthstar Mountain started to make sense. Opener “Dusty” is a lush introduction to the album’s sonic world, charmed by an orchestration of flutes, strings and the magical sounds of Flying Cloud. It offers a poignant tapestry of Cohen's entanglement of both beauty and sorrow and speaks of the complexity of change: “It’s not supposed to be this hard,” she sings as the dancing flute mimics the catharsis of just saying it out loud.
“Earthstar” continues to prod at this complexity, as Cohen highlights the risk of love and how you can never really know someone, even those closest to you. The kaleidoscopically serene synths tell us there is a peacefulness, a beauty, in facing this truth. Change is hard, but changing alongside someone is a divine privilege. “Mountain,” bound by grief in its delicacy and sorrow, sees Cohen process the tragic loss and sudden death of a dear, close friend. “Losing you is a mountain of stillness / a distant star flashes your mischief," she sings, as a sorrowful slide guitar solo from Evian and unwavering, heavenly rhythms mourn alongside her. “Love like that won’t ever end” Cohen belts, as Stevens’ backing vocals propel her forward, through the darkness.
The rousing “Draggin’” pokes at the absurdity of familial relationships––”they cut the deepest”––and witnessing friends struggling with theirs. The communal-chorus of “such a drag!” and the sauntering bass feels like a smirking exhale at this universal frustration. “Dog Years” asks how to build a life, despite the anxiety of sudden change, while “Summer Sweat” shakes out these exasperations, raising arms to a disco ball, eyes closed.
Earthstar Mountain is an ode to curiosity. It asks what it means to live a life: how do we decide which direction to take? How do we stay there? And what happens when the rug is pulled from under our feet? This indecision is embraced and emphasized, underlined in a wandering doodle. “I’ve always wanted a certain life, but then I also want another kind of life,” she says. “They both hover over me all the time.” There is power and release in this observation: the duality of self, of light and dark, stillness and movement, lovers and strangers. A life exists because these dualities cohabitate––the universe within ourselves and the universe outside. The struggle is where clarity is formed and Cohen, ever-open to the possibilities, invites us to take a walk in the woods with her. Like the 1882 lithograph adorning the cover, there’ll be a beautiful view waiting for you whichever path you choose.
