It takes good soil, and good seasons, to bear good fruit, and Upstate has had its plenty. The band sprung up in New York’s legendary Hudson Valley, set in the middle of a thick American musical heritage. To their inland West was the Ashokan reservoir folk tradition, and across the river to the East the legacy of Pete Seeger and the Clearwater. Just north of them was Woodstock and Big Pink, and all the treasured inheritance of Bob Dylan and the Band. Just south was Tony Falco’s famed venue the Falcon, a refuge and respite for some of the most venerable jazz legends like Sonny Rollins or Joe Lovano. From the first, Upstate drew liberally from everything each corner had to offer. With their first record, A Remedy, they were known for three-part female vocal arrangements recalling “not only the serpentine sibling harmonies of the Roches, but of the Andrews and Boswell sisters.” They were otherwise known for an eclectic arrangement of instruments weaving together upright bass, mandolin, cajon and baritone saxophone. By their second record Healing, they were likened to Lake Street Dive and “Manhattan Transfer meets Loretta Lynn.” For their third, You Only Get a Few, they drew comparisons to the sound of Laurel Canyon, another American musical landmark on the other side of the continent. This time they had shed the eclectic instrumentation in favor of traditional drums and guitars. After 15 years, three records, nearly a dozen former members, and one name change, Upstate could almost seem unrecognizable were it not for the constancy of their songs. Original members Melanie Glenn, Harry D’Agostino, and Mary Webster have been writing and playing music together throughout all the upheavals in the band and their lives. It’s their shared dedication to writing songs of lasting value that has persisted across all the changes to their sound. When Dylan Mckinstry finally joined the band in the years of the COVID pandemic, his enthusiasm for that commitment made it the band’s lasting cornerstone. On their upcoming Abalone, Upstate draws on the best of what has marked the band in all its many eras. They showcase a broad range of sounds and styles from across America’s musical landmarks, from the Hudson Valley to Laurel Canyon and back again (with a few detours to Muscle Shoals). They revive their noted three-part harmonies, this time with McKinstry adding a male voice to the mix. And most importantly, they bring an even more seasoned dedication to writing and performing songs of lasting value.  

One day amid the haze of a mid-20’s summer, Ralph Kojig (co-frontman and guitarist of America’s sorriest power trio, Trauma Cat) was quietly stricken with an acute case of megalomania and pathological narcissism. In posts that were later deleted from the group’s official Bluesky and Truth Social accounts, Ralph declared: “IM GOING SOLO….BANDS ARE BULLSHIT!!!!” Then, after the last of several attempts at an intervention by bandmates Roman Pando and Rutger DiBoyere, Kojig admitted, “I’m not even sure I exist at this point,” and stormed out—but not before popping his head back in to add, “I’m down to keep making content, though.” Thus began a downward spiral of cascading mental health crises, haphazardly executed recording sessions, and questionable songwriting. The resulting 14-track album is a multi-genre, epic delusion of grandeur titled “Honk If You Don’t Exist.” It serves as an embarrassingly vulnerable diary of a doomed quest to find the elusive Self, while also taking every opportunity to bemoan an imagined tech dystopia brought on by a fictional AI-takeover. In what has become a staple of Kojig’s work, it is both bloated and underwritten. It appears that Ralph Kojig has an exceptionally complicated relationship with both his phone, and himself.