KRISTIN HERSH - Sugar On Blackstone

Sometimes, to find your way home, all it takes is walking the same street again. Kristin Hersh does so for the third time, moving back to live on Hope Street, in Providence, the city of her childhood. But places, in the writing of the Atlanta-born songwriter, are never simply places: they're repositories of memory, points of passage through which the past suddenly becomes present again. That was already true on “Wyatt At The Coyote Palace“, where places loved by her son and memories fed directly into the fabric of the songs, and it's true again on “Sugar On Blackstone”, an album deeply tied to her life.

This time, along those streets, there are lost people, friendships, family, childhood memories and a city that keeps changing along with her. Hersh doesn't simply narrate what she sees: she lets what surrounds her resurface within the songs. The result is a personal, stripped-back rock record, able to move between more intimate moments, sudden openings and a subtle unease that often stays beneath the surface but is always lurking somewhere, ready to explode.
The sonic formula doesn't change much from her previous solo work, but it still manages to feel fresh. Kristin Hersh has always alternated between albums under her own name and work with her two bands, Throwing Muses and 50 Foot Wave, and “Sugar On Blackstone” fits naturally into that trajectory. Joining her in the studio are two musicians who belong precisely to that world: Pete Harvey, already involved in the Throwing Muses' comeback with “Moonlight Concessions” in 2025, and Rob Ahlers, drummer of 50 Foot Wave.

It's music built more around Pete Harvey's cello than Rob Ahlers' drums, with Kristin's classic guitar style holding together an apparently simple framework. Few elements on the table, but arranged with great precision: it takes just a guitar strum, the entrance of the drums or a shift in the cello to completely change the temperature of a song.
The opening "Dark Eyed Junco" paves the way with guitar before the drumbeat gives the song greater body. It's a measured opening, already shot through with that sense of restlessness that will return repeatedly over the course of the album. "Ticking" and "Pink Nightgowns" slow the pace instead, sinking into a psychedelic, reflective stillness, at times dark, where the songs seem to gradually lose their outlines.

"Moths" returns to tenser, darker territory, while "'72 Stingrays" moves into a more psychedelic, intimate dimension, recounting those cars (the 1972 Stingrays) that used to speed past the park facing her apartment in Providence, first drenched in sunlight and then buried under snow. On "Sundial", Kristin's rock becomes more tangled and hypnotic, almost suspended, with voice, guitar and strings slowly building their own landscape, which, moving slowly but inexorably, finds its strength precisely in vulnerability.
"101 Run", one of the singles pulled from the album, opens up a more airy gap. The song grows progressively, almost imperceptibly, gaining intensity as the seconds pass until it takes on a broader breadth. It's one of the record's most successful openings, able to shift perspective without breaking its balance.

"Silver Beach" returns to a drier approach, enriched by Pete Harvey's cello, while "Snow White Lies" opens up the picture further with a gorgeous ballad for guitar and cello. Here the drums step in to add further energetic drive, turning the initial delicacy into something more open and luminous. And then there's "Dom In Orange", one of the record's most intense moments. Another ballad built around guitar and cello, but carrying a particular emotional weight. The song springs from the memory of Dom, a dear friend of hers killed just steps from her home at only 38 years old, and from his sudden absence. Hersh talks about her children, the funeral, walks along Blackstone Park, and that sense of disorientation that lingers when a life is brutally cut short. The music, though, doesn't try to underline the pain: it lets it breathe within an essential arrangement. It's perhaps here that "Sugar On Blackstone" finds its point of balance. Vulnerability isn't turned into a statement, nor loaded with emphasis: it stays inside the songs, in the voice, in the guitars, and above all in the dialogue with the cello. Even when the artist shows herself at her most fragile, the songwriting retains remarkable solidity. "Samson" closes the record with intense, taut guitar strumming, bringing back to the fore that restless streak running through the album at intervals. It's an ending that confirms the quality of the composition and that sense of unease which, even in the seemingly quietest moments, continues to linger.

"Sugar On Blackstone" doesn't add a new Kristin Hersh to the long story of her career. There's no need for one. Her formula remains recognizable, but keeps finding fresh lifeblood in the life around her: in memories, in loved ones and in those who are gone. It's the way the songwriter comes home once again, without ever having truly left.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google

03/10/2026