Osmunda Music is the recording name of Rebecca Trujillo-Vest, a Santa Fe-born singer, writer and producer who has worked out of Los Angeles for three decades. She grew up singing and playing guitar in New Mexico, inside a Spanish and Indigenous family line that stretches back centuries, and she has spent the years since building a small ecosystem around that voice. With her husband Michael Vest she co-founded the Venice studio Earthstar Creation Center in 2010 and the band Space Babies. In 2022 she helped start Pandion Music Foundation, a nonprofit that offers independent artists free workshops, mentorship and wellness tools. The records under her own name have kept a steady temperature since the 2019 debut Munda: cosmic folk, ethereal pop, children’s music, protest folded into prayer. Sending My Love, Take My Hand, Heartful of Peace and last year’s Spread the Love Around all came out of that same Venice room.
In January 2025 the Palisades fire took her house. The new EP, Wrapped in Warmth, arrived on 7 August 2026 as the second project she finished after that loss, with Truth and Light as the focus single. She has said presence is not a destination she is chasing. It is the place she already occupies. That sentence is the whole brief.
Think of a royal fern. Osmunda is a real genus, an old one, with fossils that predate most of the language we use to talk about healing. The plant does not burst. It uncoils. A fiddlehead stays tight until the moisture and the heat agree, then the frond opens in a slow spiral and the fertile tips look, for a week or two, as if the fern had learned how to flower. People once hid inside stands of it. Gardeners still plant it at the wet edge of things. The name on this record is not decoration. It is a climate instruction. Warmth here is the condition that lets a living form stop protecting itself.
That is the shape of the seven tracks.
The title song opens like a room you can stand in. Soft pads, a low electronic pulse that behaves more like breath than a drum kit, stacked vocals that keep the ceiling low and kind. “Leaving worries behind, lost in nature’s bliss, on this journey.” The writing is plain on purpose. The production does the heavier work, holding the listener inside a bucolic enclosure before the record asks anything harder. It is a refuge track, and it knows it.
It’s a Beautiful Place picks up the pulse. The lyrics turn into a short list of interior tools: intuition, compassion, mindfulness, the claim that “my favorite place is right here.” The hook that matters is the one that talks to the mix itself. “Modulate the sound around, around, around.” Filters, panning and delay start to orbit the voice, so the idea of a world in motion is also a psychoacoustic trick. The song wants to align a mind, not fill a dance floor.
Tetrahedron is the EP’s deepest chamber. Press notes say it was caught live in a single improvised take, and the arrangement believes that. The title points at sacred geometry, fire, a four-faced solid used for centuries as a figure of change. “I’m inside your chamber / Feeling the full grace.” The pads darken. The voice turns invocatory. Time thins out. After two songs of comfort, this is the first track that lets the air get strange, which is also the first moment the record earns its spiritual vocabulary.
Truth and Light is the still point. Sunlight, in these lyrics, is information. Vibration carries stories. Breath, peace, sincerity, soaring. The lines shorten until they resemble a count of inhales. The arrangement stays spare and hymn-like, closer to a purification rite than a single built for playlists. If Wrapped in Warmth has a center of gravity, this is it. The warmth stops being mood and becomes a frequency you can sit inside.
Then the record turns back toward the body.
Feel the Sun works like a small outdoor ritual. Rain, sun, flowers, repeated until the words start to behave like samples. “Beauty comes from within / Feel the sun from the inside.” After the abstraction of Truth and Light, the loop is almost childlike, and that is its strength. The light is no longer a concept. It is something you take in.
Vitamin D is the track that breaks the spell in the right way. Spoken phrasing at the top, a clearer groove underneath, a lyric that finally names the room most listeners actually live in. Screens. Compare and contrast. The logic of never being enough. “Glued to the screen / Blocking Vitamin D and the C.” The writing gets looser, even playful, with a Scooby-Doo wink and a push to let the body move. It is the most social song on the EP and the one that proves Trujillo-Vest can look outward without losing the project’s temperature. The sea and the sun are not metaphors here. They are the prescription.
I’m Alive (Feel the Sunshine) closes in full voice. One life, forgiveness, “we have come so far / to be who we are,” a chorus built to leave the window open. After six tracks of enclosure, mantra and inward travel, the last song wants lift. Love keeps the clouds away. The destination the title track promised is sung as a fact.
Taken as a sequence, Wrapped in Warmth is coherent. Refuge, awakening, initiation, purification, nature, the social world, joy. The production language stays inside atmospheric pop, downtempo and soft electronics, with voice always in the foreground. That consistency is also the limit. Several lyrics lean on affirmation until the language stops surprising you. Happiness can be contagious. Love is all we need. Those lines have work to do inside a healing practice. On a record they can flatten the air the arrangements are trying to keep open. The EP is most itself when the writing gets specific, when Tetrahedron enters the chamber, when Truth and Light treats sunlight as data, when Vitamin D admits the phone in the hand.
What gives the release weight is the climate around it. A woman who lost a house to fire made a record about warmth that refuses to perform wreckage. She slowed the writing down. She let one song exist at a time. She named the project after a plant that only unfurls when the conditions are right, then spent seven tracks trying to become that condition for the listener. You do not have to share the cosmology to hear the intention. The fern opens. The voice stays close. The light, for once, is asked to do something practical.
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