About

The intersection between human encounters and personal transformation currently fascinates me. Exploring the visceral, close, raw, sensual, transitive, expansive, vulnerable moments of connection that happen when we brave being ourselves, ask for what we need, and have the courage to say no. I’m curious about what is laid bare when we peel away the layers of societal construct and give way to conscious, honest communication.

My impulse to create can be felt painfully, like a pressure – something wanting to get out. Before it’s ready I’ll be crawling up the walls wondering what’s wrong with me and then, when the gestation period is up, out comes a song.

I see humans (and other life-forms) as unique crystals, shaped by their character, experiences and desires. When the pure unseen light of inspiration flows through them it refracts a pattern unique to them. In a sense, the act of creation is accessing that state of mind where that inspiration flows. Before it comes observation, research, intention, and to it is added technical knowledge.

Materials: wood, metal, hair, skin and gut

Forms: nyckelharpa, cello, hurdy gurdy, viola da gamba, piano, tagelharpa, lyre, vielle, drums (and others)

The central thing that interests me in my work is the interaction between sound and human emotion – how our minds and bodies interpret sound and how it literally meets us on a vibrational level. This is such a big question, I’ll just say a few things that resonate with me. I love fluidity in structures – in that way I’d say music pre-1500 was more natural, back when they danced in circles rather than squares. 

Sound has four qualities – pitch, duration, timbre and volume. Around pitch I always return to open intervals like 4ths and 5ths; and those major 2nds and minor 7ths that rub against each other without quite being able to settle. I experience the timbre of sound like the texture of a material touching me. For example the sound of metal strings bowed on a cello compares to the horse hair of a tagelharpa as being touched by a smooth glossy object compares to sandpaper. It’s important to me to work with a spectrum of sounds – from the rough and raw, to more pure ones – to enable the broad emotional reach in the music I desire. An interesting part of that spectrum is the interaction of pitch and timbre – the pitch aspect of a sound with fewer impurities is more pronounced.

I’ve produced albums in folk/traditional, early music, classical, and collaborated with others in pop, world music, electronic, prog, epic etc. Every genre and everyone I’ve worked with has had a lot to teach me, and to each I’ve brought my own thread of artistic individuality. Since people can find genre descriptions useful I’ll say my current exploration feels encapsulated within the singer/songwriter space. Defining a framework is an essential part of every creative act, and without rules it’s no fun breaking them, but as I’m only interested in consensual restraint expect anything else to hop in that’s exciting me or serves the emotions of the moment.

Sound has four qualities – pitch, duration, timbre and volume. Around pitch I always return to open intervals like 4ths and 5ths; and those major 2nds and minor 7ths that rub against each other without quite being able to settle. I experience the timbre of sound like the texture of a material touching me. For example the sound of metal strings bowed on a cello compares to the horse hair of a tagelharpa as being touched by a smooth glossy object compares to sandpaper. It’s important to me to work with a spectrum of sounds – from the rough and raw, to more pure ones – to enable the broad emotional reach in the music I desire. An interesting part of that spectrum is the interaction of pitch and timbre – the pitch aspect of a sound with fewer impurities is more pronounced.

The whole of me has a place in my art or I would be limiting it. And that includes my sexuality – it is a huge part of the human experience and impossible to distinguish from it. It is also a powerfully creative force. I’ve resisted presenting myself in ways that might be seen to capitalise on my body due to fears of criticism that I am using appearance to sell my work, fears that my art wouldn’t be taken seriously, fears that I couldn’t build a long term career if looks were a base of my popularity, fears of unwanted attention within the music industry and fears I’m not pretty enough anyway. At this point I want to choose not to live in fear. Those fears are simply preventing the flow of my art, and have never protected me from the gender discriminative and unsafe aspects of the music industry. The source of those fears is in a place of control, rather than in the most authentic kind version humanity can be – and that is where I want to be.

The beginnings of my career were filtered through the lens of classical music, where performers are generally presented as conduits for the composer’s vision, rather than collaborators or originators. This strongly resonated with me as at the time I idolised the concept of being a Guardian Angel, an unseen facilitator of the lives of others. I believed this to be an highly spiritual and egoless aspiration. But I now understand the ideas behind that desire are in the centuries of conditioning that cast the feminine in a role of service, away from self expression. Both the world and my place within music have changed since then. I’ve moved from being a freelance artist, valued primarily for my skills and role within other people’s projects, to a creator of my own. Who I am as a whole person now feels relevant to my work and to my audience. And that concept of self expression that I used to judge as ego driven now appears as a simple desire to connect with others in an authentic way through the unique gifts that I have to offer.

A high pitched Scandinavian herding call used by women to call their livestock (cattle etc.) home when they’re grazing in the mountains. It’s beautiful, powerful and exhilarating. The calls are improvised and a wonderful place to find your own voice. And in London knowing I can do this also makes me feel safer on the streets.

Recently I discovered that the way I experience sensory input is not typical of the humans. My sensory processing system is hyper-sensitive which can be a super-power for my work, but also means I live a slightly vampiric existence in darker spaces. I have a photographic memory for pitch (perfect pitch); and physical sensations, like the specific feel of someone’s skin, will stay in my memory for a long time. I can tell if a note is in tune by the vibrations under my finger tip. Synaesthesia is where our senses are more interconnected. One aspect for me is that each note has a colour – so A = red, B = lilac, C = yellow, D = blue, E = orange etc. It’s a pretty vivid world.

In a sense all music is therapy. We are drawn to certain music – to listen to it, dance to it and use it as a soundtrack to parts of our lives – that resonates with us and fulfils something in the moment. I love the temporal nature of sonic art – how it arises, creates a framework, interacts with our expectation to satisfy, delight or purge, and dissolves back to silence after use.In performance each audience and space create a unique container, with its own flow and spontaneity. It is both personal and collective. Music has the power to go under the radar of the social and cultural barriers that prevent us being present with many of our own emotions. Enabling us to release intensely personal feelings amongst people who were strangers earlier in the evening is one of its most beautiful gifts. My desire is that my audience leave lighter and less burdened, feeling nourished and more connected.

Music at home was pretty varied. My father is a jazz and classical musician, he plays double bass and plucked things like guitars, banjo etc. There were childhood summer days climbing the huge pear tree in our garden and singing my own songs, I think at this stage they were mostly about flowers. My first instrument was cello, I trained classically and studied at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. By the time I was 17 I’d performed at the Wigmore Hall, London, sung in St Mark’s Basilica, Venice, and toured internationally making TV appearances. My introduction to contemporary music and production was as a session musician. As part of the Mediaeval Baebes I began exploring more unusual historic instruments and folk music, and continued this focus with Wilde Roses and my solo albums. Recently I’ve been listening to electronic music and it’s just insane to me that the sounds I hear aren’t physically produced. Everything I’ve done up to now has been connected to my skills, both singing and on instruments. I’m curious to move away from physical virtuosity and into emotional virtuosity as a starting point for creativity.

Dancing, Going to galleries, Strudel, Tea, Qi Gong, Chocolate and Connecting with other humans in all the most authentic ways.

It’s a nice idea 🙂 but just not practical.

I’m excited about collaborating with Swiss electronic music artist Garance at Fox and Badge’s next event.