The journey started back in the spring when London based alt-folk musician Hollie Haines kick started an eight-month release campaign leading up to her new album Letters To My Last Love. April saw the release of the first track ‘Except For You’, a floaty love song with sparkling cello and delicate vocals. Since then a new track has been released monthly, each representing a unique stage of healing after losing love and covering the emotions of loving, losing, hurting, missing, healing, letting go and loving again. We’re now on our final chapter with the latest single, ‘Mine’.
Hollie Haines is an alt-folk singer-songwriter based in London. She performs with powerful and honest lyrics, teamed with delicately crafted melodies. After spending three years in Leeds studying music, she moved to London to make her mark on the capital’s music scene.
After touring Europe and with another string of live shows on the way, Hollie brings music with authentic and honest lyrics which makes her instantly relatable and when performing live. Hollie pairs her deeply emotive lyrics with quips and anecdotes, about the people and stories that have inspired her music, to give a captivating performance.
This final track ‘Mine’ marks the final ‘Loving Again’ stage and will be released on the same day as the whole album. Haines said the inspiration for the final track came from watching a friend fall in love.
“I wanted to write about a love that was so real, that it gave a constant reminder than love can come back into your life, even when you think you’ve lost it for good. The friend that inspired this song is that reminder for me”
Haines has worked with number of musicians and producers on this album, one of which is award winning producer Lauren Deakin-Davies. Hollie says:
“Working with Lauren was amazing, it’s probably the best recording experience I’ve had. She perfectly translated everything I wanted into the music and she helped make ‘Mine’ absolutely perfect .
“Utterly irresistible” – Tom Robinson, BBC 6 Music
Releasing her debut album, This Land, at the tail end of 2014, barely a year after making her first appearance on the folk circuit, the distinctively pure, trebly-voiced North Hertfordshire based singer-songwriter clearly doesn’t believe in letting the grass grow under her feet. She returns now with an even more striking, even more ambitious sophomore release that sees her working with three different producers, some of whom have been involved on co-writes.
Stu Hanna from Megson is behind the desk for four numbers, first up being the co-penned title track opener on which he also contributes fiddle, percussion and guitar. It’s a dynamic start to proceedings, a jaunty, tumbling drums folk tune on which Oliver multitracks her own harmonies as she sings “They strap you down and gag your mouth until you cannot shout at all” in the voice of a young woman who, having a child out of wedlock, is judged to be mentally incompetent and bundled off to the notorious Bethlem Royal Hospital, a lunatic asylum dubbed Bedlam, where, from the late 16th century to 1770, visitors, mostly the wealthy, went to be entertained by and mock the inmates.
The second of the Hanna productions (this time playing fiddle, mandolin and piano) follows with ‘Lay Our Heavy Heads’, an equally bouncy, scratchy guitar number with syncopated percussion wherein the protagonist, a young chap, professes his undying love. Also sprightly of gait, ‘Miles To Tralee’ recalls her Irish heritage as banjo and fiddle (and a dash of shruti box) guide the young colleen as she professes how she’d walk all the way from London back to Ireland to return to the home where she was born. The last of the four Hanna numbers comes with ‘Same World’ (with an extended intro not feature on the radio play single) on which both he and wife Debbie provide backing vocals, a softer ballad that, backed by mandola, addresses gender differences and concludes that “we’re just little boys and girls telling stories of the same world.”
The second producer is Nigel Stonier, making the first of his two more commercially inclined appearances and co-writes with ‘Jericho’, accordion, harmonica, fiddle and dulcimer colouring an arms-linked swayalong in which the singer declares she’ll fight any girl in town and bring down the city walks to bring home her prize. Their second collaboration is the album’s final track, ‘Rio’, a fiddle-flourished, beat and bouncy folk-pop number in celebration of the Brazilian capital that sounds not unlike something Thea Gilmore (with whom Oliver toured last year) might have recorded. No surprise then to learn she also sings harmonies on it.
The remaining four numbers are co-produced by Lauren Deakin Davies who, not yet out of her teens, has enlisted double bassist Luke Drinkwater and brought the same rootsy feel she did to the debut. The first of her tracks is ‘In The City’, a song of urban alienation with fingerpicked acoustic guitar and muted harmonica, followed by the vocally cascading, pared back ‘The Other Woman’ which, as the title might suggest, is about getting involved with someone who’s already spoken for. Double bass counterpointing the fingerpicked guitar and harmonica, ‘Ghosts At Night’ is a gently sad song that may address the plight of refugees, but certainly concerns those who, caught up in things they can’t control, have lost their sense of being rooted as she sings “You’ve lost the feeling in your wings, you’ve lost the sight of land below.” The sense of confusion and displacement filters thematically into the remaining number (and arguably the most striking after the title track), the impassioned, gradually building swayalong ‘Die This Way’, a song about today’s world with its extremism, a “wretched frontier” with “planes falling through the sky, shot down by the enemy side” sung from a frightened child’s perspective, strummed in Dylanesque protest fashion and featuring a similarly influenced harmonica break. It’s a hugely impressive and confident step forward that underscores Oliver as one of the new torchbearers of contemporary British folk and one which, I suspect, will give her the craft and experience to produce album number three herself.
Shortly after I met Kara a cousin, not noted for her interest in folk music, mentioned that she’d heard them at a village fete and remembered Daria Kulesh vividly. Daria is like that: she is memorable, she’s a personality; and while the band is gearing up to start work on their second album she releases her debut.
Daria has not fallen into the trap of trying to make a Kara album. This is very different – ten original songs that are largely autobiographical, each one dedicated to family members or friends. The opening tracks establish her voice as the key instrument and my initial impression was of unexpected delicacy. Second time round I realised that there was a lot more going on. Producer Ben Walker plays almost everything and it is his guitar and piano that sets the first foundations. There are guest appearances from Kate Rouse, Kaity Rae, Luke Jackson and Lauren Deakin-Davies who also produced ‘Fake Wonderland’ and ‘Cracks’ but Daria and Ben hold centre stage.
The opening track, ‘Fata Morgana’, is for Daria’s fairy godmother and the dual meanings of the title, sorceress or mirage, are entwined in the song. It is here, perhaps, that Daria’s eternal child is rooted. Not that her reminiscences are all sweetness and light. The second song, ‘Letting Go’ (“for my first love”), contains a wicked put-down in its second verse. First love stays with you forever even if you don’t want it to.
There are three songs at the heart of the album which depart from the clear path of autobiography. In ‘At Midnight’, co-written with Igor Devlikamov, she confesses to being a witch which is probably not literally true although I agree that she casts a spell. Then comes ‘Butterflies’ which effortlessly deconstructs the usual metaphors and puts together an alternative view: “brittle butterflies break their wings on ignorance…too soon”. Even if you don’t know about Epidermolysis bullosa and “butterfly children” the metaphor still works on a different level for the eternal child forced to grow up. ‘The Hairdresser’ sounds like a flight of fancy and I hesitate to ask how much truth hides within its soap-opera story.
Daria writes strong melodies to go with her crystal clear voice and I wonder how much the music of her Russian childhood influences them. The result, however, is an album that rewards repeated listening and will be near at hand for quite a while.