Hafdis Huld: Home

review huld x1 cong

Ever since Emilíana Torrini’s Fisherman’s Woman a decade ago we’ve had a soft spot for whimsical female singers from Iceland. Hafdis Huld? Even her name’s appealing.
She sounds exactly as we would have wanted: it’s the kind of music fairies would play of an evening after they’d bedded down the unicorns for the night.
Maybe it’s because Iceland is so small and they all know each other, but there’s an intimate feel to albums like this, and they tell stories that are as important as the music. The songs are mainly just her and guitar and piano for company but it’s her voice that makes the album. Autonomous sensory meridian response is partly to blame: that’s the tingling sensation you get to some sounds, like whispering, and which you never knew had a name until now. (And you thought it was just you). It’s all nice.

About jerobear

Weekly newspaper editor in Cheshire, England. I blog my editorials and the CDs I write about. I play drums, drink coffee, play music, meditate. I hate filling in forms.

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