Coverville

Dark Compass

Bandcamp

Youtube Music

Spotify

From the moment I began listening to this album, one thing was immediately clear it carries a deeply spiritual quality. I’m not a religious person, but I’ve always appreciated the richness of different beliefs and cultures. Some artists manage to channel something profound through their music, something that resonates on a deeper level. George Harrison comes to mind, not during his Beatles years, but in the period when he truly came into his own as a solo artist. Even Leonard Cohen captured that same essence, sometimes buried deep beneath the surface, and other times shining unmistakably through, especially in his final album.
 
That being said, I don’t want to put off anyone who might read this and think, "Yeah, I’ll pass". If you do, you’ll be missing out on something truly special. There’s no need to believe in anything or search for hidden meaning, you just have to listen, feel, and experience it. And I hope, above all, that you enjoy it.
 
I thought this was Nicks' only other album, aside from Part 1 (which somehow passed me by), but it turns out he was a member of "Portico Quartet", a Mercury nominated band. His first solo release actually dates back to 2014. Anyway I digress.
 
The album opens with "Every Open Heart", beginning with what I believe is a harmonium accompanied by subtle vocal accents. Soon the guitar enters, with a distinctly Spanish flavour, and the song comes alive. After the first verse, the lyrics transition into Sanskrit, delivering a philosophical passage from Hindu scriptures that feels almost like a mantra. Translated, it reads something like:
 
<quote>"Lead me from illusion to reality 
Lead me from ignorance) to knowledge 
Lead me from death to immortality"</quote>
 
And it weaves effortlessly into the song, much like some of George Harrison’s work. There’s an undeniable sense of optimism, yet it remains grounded in something deeper. There’s even a synth solo, which might sound out of place on paper, but in the track, it just works beautifully.
 
The Spanish-influenced guitars continue into the next track, "For Real", which feels almost like a continuation of the previous song, yet with its own distinct signature. Around the halfway point, a guitar break emerges, and when the vocals return, they carry added depth and an almost hypnotic quality.
 
With "East of Eden", my first thought was of the James Dean movie, probably an age thing. The tempo slows here, resulting in a much more subdued and introspective track. It might sound silly, but it almost feels like an embrace, a comforting hug. The ethereal accompaniment only deepens this sense of atmosphere.
 
There’s no denying the more overtly religious overtones of "Supernatural Healing". The younger me might have instantly dismissed it for its frequent use of "Jesus" and "Lord" but sometimes you need to step back from dissecting every detail and appreciate the bigger picture. And there’s no denying, once again, this is a great track.
 
Sometimes a track doesn’t need much analysis, as is the case with "I Want To See You." Running just under two minutes, it essentially functions as a mantra, or a prayer, repeated several times. The message is simple, yet delivered with remarkable beauty.
 
"Wild Atlantic Way" is another track that starts simply but soon evolves into a real foot-tapper. The Irish influence is clear, not just in the instrumentation, but also in the place names mentioned throughout. There are a couple of standout solos as well, first a whistle, then a violin, each adding their own charm to the track.
 
I don’t think we need to dwell too much on the sentiment behind "Amen". There’s no denying it’s a great track, and trying to dissect it would likely only spoil the experience. Both musically and lyrically, it simply works, beautifully.
 
Track 8 pauses for a musical interlude, an instrumental called "Instrumental 2 (Cambridge)". Immediately, thoughts of the great Nick Drake came to mind. I’m not sure what it was, the simplicity of the guitar, the gentle humming, or perhaps something deeper, but the resemblance lingered nonetheless.
 
There’s a simple, understated beauty in "Handing It Over." The lyrics are moving, perfectly complemented by the guiding piano and the guitar, which adds subtle depth. The vocals are especially effective, particularly when layered over one another, creating a rich, immersive texture.
 
The album closes with "Find Me". Another seemingly simple track, though "simple" hardly does it justice. It begins understated but gradually builds, leaving the album on an uplifting note rather than a reflective, downbeat one.
 
I approached this album thinking of it as more spiritual than religious, though I admit my perspective may have shifted somewhat. That aside, the album is beautiful, uplifting, and at times powerful. Some listeners might hear elements that make them uncomfortable or prompt them to move on, but I would encourage giving the album a full listen before making a judgement. For me, this is an exceptional work, one that will certainly not be a stranger to my ears.

Dark Harvest, Pt. 2

This is one of those albums that opens with a bang, and you can’t help but hope it grabs hold and doesn’t let go. That bang comes with "Man On The Moon", which begins simply enough, but once the music and vocals kick in, you know you’re in for something special. It sets the tone perfectly and leaves you eager for what follows.
 
Let me clear something up early. In my head, I kept drawing comparisons to another famous Irish export, Mumford and Sons. At first I thought it was the vocals, but when I went back and listened to tracks like The Cave, I realised it was my mind playing tricks, leaning too heavily on the “Irish” connection. Listening now, Mumford and Sons feel looser, more like a campfire session, while Kingfishr comes across as tighter and more polished. I hesitate to use the word “produced,” but in this case it fits, because Kingfishr’s sound gets me to where I want to be faster. That’s not to say either is better, only that while their roots may be similar, their sounds are distinctly different.
 
I think this becomes even clearer as the album continues with tracks like "21". By this point, the band’s sound feels more defined, the layers more deliberate, and the energy more controlled without losing its edge. There’s a real sense of momentum, almost as if the opening tracks were the spark and now we’re being carried by the flame.
 
For me, listening with headphones transforms the experience. The production really comes alive in the details, the separation of instruments, the space around the vocals, and the subtle textures that might be lost on a casual speaker listen. It feels like the music is wrapping around you, pulling you in closer, and that immersion makes the emotional punch of the songs land even harder.
 
As soon as I saw the title "Gloria", I couldn’t help but think of another Irish legend, Van Morrison, who gave us a song of the same name. While his version was a raw, raucous punch, this Gloria takes a very different path, more emotional, more introspective, and less of a smack around the chops. What really stands out here are the vocals, especially in the moments when they descend into darker depths, adding weight and intensity to the track.
 
Earlier I used the term “produced,” a word that often suggests constraint or excessive polish. But production doesn’t have to strip away heart and soul, and "I Cried, I Wept" proves that beautifully. It carries a raw sincerity that cuts straight through, brimming with emotion yet still finely balanced in its delivery. The track feels both vulnerable and powerful, and you can’t help but wonder whether the rest of the album can sustain this level of intensity and momentum.
 
With "Next To Me", the answer to that earlier question might initially feel like a no, but in truth, it offers a welcome change of pace. After the intensity of the faster tracks, this song provides a moment of respite, a gentle canter that allows the listener to catch their breath before the album gathers speed again. It’s a well placed pause that makes the return to the higher energy tracks feel even more impactful.
 
Given the album’s 16 tracks, it’s no surprise that the lull in pace continues with Diamonds & Roses. It’s a beautiful piece that feels like a timeless sing-along folk song, carrying a warmth and familiarity that invites you to join in. There’s even the faintest hint of banjo woven into the background, adding a subtle texture that reinforces its folk roots without overwhelming the simplicity of the melody.
 
And I think it's at this point when I have to realise that the monumental task of reviewing all 16 tracks may be a little like overkill, not just for me the writer, but for you the reader. Suffice to say I'll just cover a few more of the amazing tracks on this album, before the conclusion that is already pretty much formulated in my head.
 
"Killeagh" is another lilting track, one that reflects on origins and upbringing, blending memories of childhood, local sports, and the thrill of victory. The song has a gentle, almost nostalgic rhythm that carries you along, making it easy to imagine the sights, sounds, and small triumphs of growing up. There’s a warmth and sincerity in the storytelling that makes it feel both personal and universal, connecting the listener to the emotions and experiences at its heart.
 
The album closes with "Schooldays" a more reflective footnote. The lyrics explore the weight and impermanence of life, acknowledging personal struggles, loss, and the lessons of the past, while also celebrating moments of beauty and nostalgia. It conveys a bittersweet acceptance of life’s trials and fleeting joys. 
 
This is one of those albums that, from the very first notes, you just know is going to be something special. It draws you in, holds your attention, and doesn’t let go until the final track gently ebbs away. Kingfishr strike me as a band that would be incredible to experience live. They’re touring Canada at the end of September, though unfortunately I won’t be here, but I’ll certainly be keeping an eye out for their return.

Halcyon

Although there’s an astonishing amount of new music released every week, sometimes I need to scratch a specific itch. Back in 2007 I reviewed Robin’s album Footprint, after discovering his work on MySpace and was blown away. The tracks were often sensitive and heartfelt, layered on top of perfect melodies.
 
Recently, while going through the weekly list of new submissions, the name “Robin” drifted into my mind, an artist I’d reviewed before. Curious, I searched the site and found his full name. A further dig revealed that since Footprints, his third release, he’s put out a tremendous number of albums. If YouTube Music is accurate, Footprints was followed by at least fourteen more releases, making the 2022 album his eighteenth.
 
The album opens with "Go", a track that immediately surprised me given my earlier experience with Robin’s music. It’s far more upbeat than I expected, though a trace of melancholy lingers beneath the surface. That mood never takes over, though the vibrant instrumentation and confident arrangement keep it light and almost happy.
 
The Robin I remember comes back with "Like Me" and I mean that in the best way. The melody is straightforward, letting the lyrics carry the weight, and they do so with impact. I once compared Robin’s vocals to Michael Stipe, and I still hear that slight influence, though there’s also a touch of James Blunt in the phrasing and delivery.
 
Another acoustic guitar driven track, Sixty Minutes, reflects on the passage of time with a playful nod to Dorian Gray. It feels especially apt, as it’s been nearly 20 years since I last reviewed Robin’s music. In that time I don’t feel a day older in my mind, though my body might argue otherwise. A beautifully simple and evocative song.
 
"Chose" is more produced and layered, with drums alongside both acoustic and electric guitars. The overall tone is darker, adding depth and variety to the album. Listening to it makes me wonder what else I’ve missed in the many releases between this and the one I originally reviewed.
 
This style carries into "Looking At You", though with a noticeably lighter touch. The arrangement feels brighter, with gentler instrumentation and a more open rhythm that lifts the mood. There’s still that familiar thread of melancholy in Robin’s delivery, but this time it’s tempered by a quiet sense of longing, and perhaps the faintest suggestion of hope. 
 
While I’ve enjoyed the more upbeat tracks, it’s the melancholy and downbeat songs that resonate most with me. "Only" stands out for its lyrics and storytelling. The delivery feels humble and honest, carrying a sadness that Robin conveys with quiet strength.
 
The melancholy continues with "Drifting". While many might prefer melancholy in small doses, for me there’s a certain appeal, a temporary suspension of the here and now, immersing in someone else’s sorrow and emerging with a sense that life isn’t quite so bad. That perspective probably makes more sense if you knew my teenage soundtrack, hours spent listening to The Smiths. 
 
The tempo picks up again in "Cry Wolf". Musically and lyrically, it carries shades of Suzanne Vega, but it’s the track that resonated least with me. Not that it’s a bad song, simply that, in tone and style, it feels slightly out of step with the rest of the album. 
 
"Still Got Tonight" brings another directional change, this time led by simple piano, and it works beautifully. The lyrics carry a subtle urgency against the slower piano, creating a gentle tension that propels the song forward. It evokes the feeling of many “last nights” before an inevitable goodbye, giving the track a quietly poignant weight within the album.
 
"Inside" is a more upbeat track, instantly reminding me of The Band’s "The Weight". It’s a nice song, but I find myself drawn more to the album’s downbeat moments. Perhaps after a few more listens, without my critical hat on, the track would feel more cohesive, but I’m not quite there yet.
 
Closing the album is "This Is Your Life", a nod to the old TV show where guests were greeted by Eamonn Andrews and his iconic red book. For some, it evokes recognition for the joy they bring to others; for others, it can feel like a bookend to a career, a goodbye they may not be ready to face. It’s certainly an evocative track and a fitting, memorable way to close the album.
 
I can remember discovering Robin and feeling so bowled over by his music. 20 years on and it was that feeling all over again. I just hope that like the previous track, this isn't a bookend and new music is on the horizon.
 
Just a note the album doesn't seem to be available on BandCamp at the moment, but you can stream it on YouTube Music. Hopefully Robin is able to remedy that in the near future.

Stopped Clock

I’ve been a fan of Rob’s for many years, though it’s been quite some time since I last reviewed his music. In fact, I missed his most recent release back in 2011, though I did feature one of its standout tracks, “Love is Overrated,” on the podcast, and it remains a personal favourite. Beyond his own work, Rob is also an accomplished producer, having helmed albums such as Scott Cooper’s Tiny Increments, one of my most highly regarded reviews. A few weeks ago, Rob sent me a preview of his upcoming single, followed recently by an email to say it's been released.
 
Now I don't usually review singles, but this is in fact a double sided single and for those too young to remember, and I can't believe I have to write this, but singles used to come out on vinyl back in the day, with the leading strong track on the A side, and a usually lesser track, one that wasn't usually good enough to make the album on the B side. Sometimes you'd get 2 track on the B side and occasionally you'd get an equally strong track on the B side, which made it a Double A side single, a popular example of this is the Beatles Strawberry Fields and Penny Lane.
 
Back to what I’m calling an EP, though it technically only holds three tracks, it opens with “Introduction (People Sufferin’),” a brief 32-second preamble of strummed guitar and vocals. True to its title, it feels more like a scene-setter than a full song, laying out a curious little sketch of what’s to come, but I have to admit, it's good to hear Rob's voice again.
 
"Who Will Listen When You Pray" feels very much like vintage Rob: a slow-burn built on acoustic guitar, simple accompaniment, and those unmistakable vocals. It’s been a good few years since I last reviewed his work, and while there’s a touch of age in his voice now, it carries a richness—like a fine wine—that still lands beautifully on the ear. Just past the halfway point, a well-placed guitar solo slips in, elevating the mood and adding depth to an already heartfelt track.
 
The final track, "Where Do We Go From Here," picks up the tempo, and I can’t help but feel my muscles twitch and my head start bobbing, fully caught up in the momentum of the music. Its driving rhythm and engaging flow make it a great closer, and it really underscores the double A-sided nature of this release, with both tracks holding their own while complementing each other beautifully.
 
This release serves as a strong reintroduction to Rob’s music. In his email, Rob described it as a deeply personal project, a cathartic outlet and a necessary means of creative expression. For listeners, it’s wonderful to experience new material from him, and I can only hope that this need to create continues, as his music remains as engaging and heartfelt as ever.

Who Will Listen When You Pray

I love how artists can emerge, reinvent themselves, fade, and then return. Back in February 2007, I reviewed The Frames’ album The Cost. That same year, lead singer Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová found success with the film Once, and by 2008 they were on the Oscar stage, winning Best Original Song for Falling Slowly. At the time, I never connected the dots. In fact, The Swell Season had already released a self-titled album in 2006, which included their Oscar-winning song. They followed it up with Strict Joy in 2009, and then, like Indie Launchpad, fell silent. And now, here we are in 2025, sixteen years later.
 
The album "Forward" is relatively short at just eight tracks, but it feels like chicken soup for the soul. Sixteen years may have passed, yet Glen's voice still carries that same comforting, emotional rawness the moment you hear the opening track, "Factory Street Bells". Adding to the impact are the wonderful violin accompaniment and the swirling, beautiful backing vocals, which elevate the song’s emotional charge.
 
Very much a traditional duet, "People We Used To Be" opens with Markéta's fragile, tender vocals in the first verse, joined by Glen in the chorus. Glen then takes the lead on the next verse, before the two return for a couple of iterations together. A wonderful instrumental break follows, leading back into the chorus to close the track. This may sound like a fairly pedestrian description, but the performance is charged with emotion and, simply put, wonderful.
 
Previous history can sometimes make you read too much into a track, which can be a dangerous thing. With "Stuck in Reverse", I don’t believe there’s any hidden meaning, just an artist drawing on past experiences to craft a powerful statement. The verses ache with raw emotion, frustration, and longing, and I imagine many listeners will connect with the lyrics, especially the line: "Can we go backwards, back to the days before the wheels came off?".
 
And just when you think the emotions can’t be pushed any further, along comes "I Leave Everything To You". Markéta’s voice is soft and fragile, carrying a hopeful tone yet shadowed by uncertainty, like the delicate building of an emotional house of cards. Each note feels carefully placed, always on the edge of collapse, which makes the performance all the more affecting. The restraint in the arrangement allows her voice to sit at the centre, creating a moment that feels intimate, vulnerable, and quietly devastating.
 
I love the way their vocals both counteract and balance each other. It may sound like a contradiction, but that’s exactly how it feels when listening. With "A Little Sugar", Glen’s vocals seem to ease the weight left by the previous track. They aren’t upbeat or particularly joyful, but there’s a calm reassurance in his delivery, a sense that, despite everything, things will be OK.
 
We come to another biographical, feeling track with "Pretty Stories", which paints a picture of reflection, heartbreak, and a longing for reassurance. Once again, Markéta takes the lead, her vocals calm yet heavy with emotion, supported by a delicate piano line that sets a fragile foundation. As the song unfolds, emotive strings swell in, and Glen’s harmonies weave around her voice, adding depth without overshadowing it. The result is a track that feels intimate and confessional, yet cinematic in its quiet intensity.
 
With "Great Weight", things take a decidedly different turn, opening with a predominantly woodwind introduction. There’s an immediate sense of familiarity in the track, something about the meter of the lyrics and the way they unfold feels like I’ve heard it before, as if it were a reworked reinvention of something half-remembered. I even found myself mentally trying to insert other lyrics, almost as though I were testing it for authenticity. Then, while making a coffee, it hit me. Leonard Cohen. I replayed the song, and just imagining Cohen singing, a little slower, made everything click into place. I’m not hinting at any kind of plagiarism, this is simply an example of how songs can evoke different associations and emotions for different listeners.
 
I think being in that frame of mind when "Hundred Words" began is why Kate Bush leapt into my consciousness. There’s certainly a comparison, but it faded as soon as Glen’s vocals joined, and the track quickly became its own entity. For me, it’s probably the weakest of the album’s tracks, but that doesn’t make it a bad song, just not as strong as the rest in my view.
 
I love how two people can come together and create musical magic. Even after such a long gap between releases, they reunited and that same magic is still very much alive. It’s wonderful to see them back, and the music world is all the richer for it.

Forward

Within seconds of hearing the first track, "dom plays the intro", I knew this was going to be something special. But it didn’t unfold quite the way I expected. The moment the guitar came in, I immediately thought of Nick Drake, an artist whose work, if you're not already familiar, is well worth exploring. That soft, intricate picking, the spacious atmosphere, it all pointed toward a sombre, fragile, melancholic journey.
 
So naturally, I braced for something introspective and brooding. But then the title track, "To Keep", began, and I was completely taken aback. Dominique’s vocals swept in, not with the shadowy weight I was anticipating, but with a light beauty, joy, and a kind of eternal optimism. It flipped my expectations entirely, and in the best way possible.
 
The track itself feels like a kind of musical sandwich, bookended by "dom plays the intro" and "keiran plays the organ", the closing coda. Those framing pieces give the sense of something lovingly assembled, thoughtfully opened and closed.
 
The bright optimism continues with "Part Time". I already felt like I was in a good mood, but this track somehow managed to lift it even higher. There's an infectious energy running through it, effortless yet deliberate. Dominique's vocals are clear, bright, and crisp, cutting through the mix with a kind of radiant clarity that feels both uplifting and effortless. It's the kind of song that seems to carry sunlight in its melody.
 
I wasn’t sure what to expect with "Heart Fridge". Even the name gave me pause. It’s the kind of title that invites interpretation before you’ve even heard a note. The track opens simply, almost modestly, with acoustic instrumentation and a gentle vocal line. But then it begins to shift and evolve, moving through what felt like four distinct musical signatures, seamlessly fused into one experience. I’ll admit, I might be overanalyzing it. But it’s one of those tracks that practically invites that kind of attention. It caught me off guard in the best way, and I found myself replaying it, trying to map its changes, drawn in by its subtle complexity.
 
With "Fine Lines", there’s a return to something more conventional, at least in structure. Dominique’s vocals and the instrumentation take centre stage, and the track unfolds with a natural, unforced ease. It doesn’t demand your attention, it earns it, quietly and confidently. In the final section, the vocals become especially breathy and delicate, almost translucent in their beauty, bringing the song to a close with a kind of intimate grace. 
 
Again with the track "karian plays the piano", we’re given a brief but evocative interlude. It’s a simple piano piece, stripped of embellishment, where every note feels intentional. You can hear the creaks and cracks, what sounds like an old, possibly decrepit piano, but there’s something tender in those imperfections. It’s the sound of an instrument with history, one that’s been played, loved, and lived with. The wear becomes part of the music, adding texture and soul.
 
The album takes a subtle turn in a slightly different direction with "Would You Tell Me Why?", one that leans more into upbeat, folk-pop territory. Dominique’s vocals remain as effortless as ever, but for me, this track is more about the instrumentation. The guitar that underpins everything and the playful keyboard textures, shifting from what sounds like a Rhodes piano to tones that, at times, evokes the shimmer of tubular bells. It’s a warm, layered soundscape that feels both familiar and unexpected.
 
"Good to You" feels like early morning listening, the kind where the windows are open, sunlight is streaming in, and the curtains are swaying gently in the breeze. It’s warm, tender, and unhurried, like an affectionate embrace that lingers. In that moment, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be, and nothing else that matters.
 
When listening to "Living", I couldn’t help but hear echoes of Fleetwood Mac, more Christine McVie than Stevie Nicks. The track carries a smooth, melodic sensibility, and Dominique’s vocals stand out with particular strength. There’s a newfound confidence in her delivery, a subtle yet noticeable edge that adds depth to the album’s emotional range. This shift is both welcome and revealing, showcasing even more of her versatility.
 
"Wood Eye" continues this more confident sound, building on the momentum of the previous track. Once again, I’m getting echoes of Nick Drake, but, as I mentioned earlier, it’s almost the reverse. Where Drake often leans into fragility and introspection, this track channels a quiet strength. It carries the same acoustic elegance, but with a brighter, more assured energy.
 
The album closes with "If I Were You", leaving me reluctant for it to end. Dominique’s debut is a confident and well-crafted statement from a remarkable Canadian talent. Hailing from Winnipeg, she deserves wider recognition, and I hope to catch her live one day, perhaps if she tours Ottawa.

To Keep

I love it when an album from an artist new to me opens with a track that pricks my ears up and sets a palpable anticipation for the album that is unfolding before me. And so it was with the title track of the album. The opening seconds threw me a bit, like overcast skies, and then I hear Mary's voice and the sun broke and I'm sold. This is a simple, mainly piano-focused song that adds more production toward the end, but it's Mary's voice that shines throughout.
 
Following that strong opener, The Wait (Don’t Tell Me) settles into something that feels instantly familiar. There’s a comforting quality to it that reminds me a little of Shania Twain, though this leans more toward adult contemporary than pop. It’s catchy without being overly polished, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear it on the radio.
 
That sense of familiarity gives way to a subtle shift in mood with Right Now. At times, it calls to mind early Suzanne Vega, but with more urgency and immediacy. It’s a track that draws you in a little deeper and shows another shade of Mary’s songwriting.
 
The journey continues with After the Disaster, which takes a turn toward a country-tinged sound. I’ll admit, country isn’t always my comfort zone, but I approach every song with an open mind, and this one grabbed my attention and the attention of my tapping foot. It’s heartfelt and grounded, adding another texture to the album.
 
Then comes Draw Blood, a title that naturally piqued my curiosity. I expected something darker, and while the song isn’t quite what I imagined, I was met instead with a pop-driven piece that still has bite. The simile “drawing blood from a stone” fits perfectly, but the twist of “drawing blood from a turnip” caught me off guard, maybe because it actually sounds more achievable. The song’s descent into a nearly punk-like rant was a highlight.
 
After that burst of energy, Salt in the Wound brings us back to Mary’s softer side. That’s not to say it’s a relief, but rather a reminder of the album's thoughtful pacing. There’s a deliberate ebb and flow here, a sense of movement that gives your ears a journey rather than keeping them in one space. This gentler tone continues with Trying to Fight the Wind, a piano-led track layered with a quiet sense of angst and anxiety. It's restrained but emotionally rich.
 
The reflective tone lingers into Bones and the Marrow, which again carries that Shania feel. I’m not trying to make constant comparisons, but the resemblance is hard to ignore, in the best way. I can almost hear Shania singing this one, though Mary makes it distinctly her own.
 
As the album nears its end, Thinking About You stands out with a haunting, choral feel. The first time I heard it, I wasn’t using headphones and couldn’t quite place the sound. Listening again at a higher volume revealed the clever vocal layering, creating a textured, ethereal atmosphere. It also feels very much like a penultimate track, a breath before the closing chapter.
 
That closing chapter is Bedding Down with the Deer, and it feels like a final handshake or wave goodbye. It is slow, deliberate and just a little dark. But as it progresses, it offers a glimmer of hope, a chink in the darkness, before fading to black.
 
This has been an album that's stayed with me for a while. I’d heard the first 30 seconds a few times and kept getting pulled away by something else. But those few seconds stuck with me and nudged me back until I could give it the attention it deserved. There's something about Mary... mmm, where have I heard that before... But seriously, this is one of those albums you put on when you need to slow down, unwind and take a little time for yourself. A bit of R and R for the soul. Mary Bue is an artist I’ll definitely be keeping an eye on.

Genres

Indie Folk

Reviews

Podcasts

Recent Posts

Music Links

Podcast Links