Long before Mt. Kili became a fuller musical project, Rick Sichta was writing intimate songs on classical guitar at home in Asheville, North Carolina, for his twin daughters. What began as a personal collection, released in 2024 as Ten Songs for “My Girls, For Now and Later,” has grown into something beautiful. Joined by drummer and percussionist Matt Shepard and singer-violinist Laney Barnett, Sichta returns with “The Noticer,” a heartfelt second album that deserves a warm and enthusiastic introduction to those of us who value honest songwriting.
Released on March 7, 2026, “The Noticer” finds Mt. Kili balancing the intimacy of homegrown folk with the depth and atmosphere of a thoughtfully arranged ensemble. These ten songs explore the complicated corners of being human, from grief and loneliness to healing, connection, and the quiet courage required to keep moving forward.
Opening the emotional door, “Don’t Start a War” examines pointless battles, loneliness, and the struggle to understand. The line, “So don’t start a war when there’s nobody home,” is a striking reminder that not every conflict deserves our energy. The imagery of waves, sailing away, and weathering a storm gives the song a drifting, unsettled atmosphere. The controlled instrumentation complements the vocal’s reflective quality, making the message feel personal rather than preachy. The vocals and instrumentation create a beautiful aura and encourage us to enter a calming state.
The album’s title track, “The Noticer,” explores the slow, difficult process of healing after a painful fall. The line “to heal from this kind of fall” captures the vulnerability at the heart of the song, while “Some kind of life, some kind of light in the dark of the day” reaches toward hope without pretending that recovery is easy. Sichta’s vocal delivery feels intimate and unforced, allowing the emotion to breathe naturally. They also add a layer of beauty and make the song magical.
Opening with splendid acoustic riffs and soothing melodies, this song creates an enchanting aura from the start. Titled “The Rain Song,” it extends the album’s emotional landscape through the familiar symbolism of rain: cleansing, sorrow, renewal, and the promise of clearer skies. It fits naturally within a record concerned with the weather inside our hearts as much as the world outside them. Its place in the album’s wider story reinforces Mt. Kili’s gift for finding emotional meaning in ordinary images and turning quiet reflection into something we can carry with us.
On “The Road Isn’t as Long as It Seems,” longing takes center stage. “Darling, you’re everything I want to be” reveals admiration and emotional dependence, while “If I saw you tonight, I would ask you to stay” carries the ache of a connection that might be slipping away. The song’s melancholic mood is balanced by the beauty of cold nights and bright stars. Sichta sings with a gentle sincerity that makes the song’s sadness feel familiar and deeply human. The instrumentation is gentle on the ears, making it a perfect track to drift off to sleep.
“Her Song,” the album’s focus track, finds beauty in change and the possibility of moving forward. It’s an invitation to “walk on deep in the dark,” suggesting that hope does not always arrive as a sudden revelation; sometimes, it is simply the light that helps us take another step. The song’s dreamlike atmosphere, poetic imagery, and patient delivery make it an ideal introduction to Mt. Kili’s emotional world. Rather than forcing a grand conclusion, the performance allows us to discover personal meanings within its uncertainty.
“Kyle” brings grief into sharp focus. The line, “Something stole you and stole our goodbyes,” expresses the cruelty of losing someone without the chance to say farewell. Yet the song does not remain trapped in sorrow. Lines about spending time in the sun and standing “ten feet tall” suggest that remembering the departed can also inspire us to live more fully. The vocal work elevates the track, making it even more enchanting and beautiful, inviting us to get soaked in its warmth.
With “The Weather Report,” the landscape grows darker and more uncertain. Images of frozen ground, dark woods, and approaching storms mirror the search for comfort in an unpredictable world. “Will we see all the love in the world on the weather report?” is a beautiful, almost impossible question. The repeated reassurance “It’ll all be fine” feels hopeful and fragile, as though the singer is trying to believe those words as much as the listener is.
“Scars” offers one of the album’s gentlest messages: our past shapes us, but it need not define everything that comes next. “But then the scars that remain in our hearts will remain” acknowledges that pain leaves its mark, while “The love will wash those scars away” opens a window toward healing. The warmth of the songwriting and the unpretentious vocal delivery give the song a reassuring quality without diminishing the truth of its sadness. It’s one of my best songs on the record.
On “Strawberry Fields,” emotional exhaustion meets nostalgia. The repeated “And we fall apart” captures the feeling of watching life unravel, while the image of strawberry fields suggests a refuge from the confusion. References to crying, hotels, and feeling lost reinforce the sense of disconnection, yet “it’s not far to go” leaves a small light burning in the distance. The contrast between melancholy and quiet hope is characteristic of the album’s strongest moments.
Lastly, “All in Good Time” reflects on relationships, change, and the difficulty of accepting that people do not always stay. “Sing a different tune” suggests the possibility of beginning again, while “Till they all walk away” acknowledges the loneliness that can come with transformation. The song moves through vulnerability and uncertainty without insisting on easy answers. Its thoughtful performance reinforces the album’s recurring belief that life must sometimes be allowed to unfold at its pace.
Across the album, the instrumentation serves the songwriting rather than competing with it. The guitar-led foundations provide warmth and intimacy, while Shepard’s percussion adds movement and shape without overwhelming the songs’ reflective character. The contributions of the wider ensemble, including singer and violinist Laney Barnett, help expand the sound into something more cinematic. Dreyer’s recording work and Glasser’s mastering give the collection a polished studio presentation while preserving the closeness that makes these songs feel personal.
Sichta’s vocals are central to that connection. His delivery favors sincerity over showmanship, allowing uncertainty, tenderness, and sadness to exist without unnecessary embellishment. He does not need to oversell the emotion; the writing and the measured performances do the work. That control becomes a strength, giving the album room to breathe and inviting us to meet the songs on our own terms.
Having already attracted coverage from 22 outlets internationally, including Obscure Sound, which called the record “among the strongest folk albums of 2026,” Mt. Kili has begun finding listeners well beyond its Asheville roots. Yet the real achievement of “The Noticer” is not a press tally or a studio credit. It’s how these songs make space for grief, uncertainty, love, and the possibility of change. With a third album, “Ikigai,” on the verge of being recorded in December 2026 and scheduled to be released on May 1, 2027, another chapter is already approaching. For now, “The Noticer” deserves to be heard on its own terms: a thoughtful, beautifully grounded indie-folk record from musicians who understand that the smallest truths can leave the deepest impressions. Mt. Kili may not raise its voice to demand our attention, but give this album a little time, and it may quietly remind you of something you needed to hear.
Listen to “The Noticer” album on Spotify
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