aldous harding

Gorgeous in a word. Pristine in another. It’s the voice I tell you, the way it trembles and quivers, perfectly sitting between sorrow and seduction, bruised in vulnerability yet fearfully alluring like a ghostly siren  – if references are to made – somewhere nudging between Emma Pollock and Hope Sandoval both smitten with the touch of the Vashti’s. So far – if you believe press release hyperbole – the secret preserve of Lyttleton, a small port town to the north of Christchurch in New Zealand for it is here that Aldous Harding plies her trade wooing the residents and soothing the passers- by with her ethereal folk hymns. To date, familiar to the local populace, she’s released home grown platters by way of lyttleton records- home of marlon Williams and Delaney Davidson. Yet as with all secrets, eventually they will out , so  step forth spunk records who’ve gathered together several of these songs and pressed them upon an album – self titled – in readiness for a November release from which as a teaser we have the delectable ‘unspk’ – in truth quite something else all dreamily framed by the breathless sigh and surge of waltzing wood crafted  fiddles all delicately back dropping the hopelessly adoring quivering shimmer of Harding’s sweetly yearned tones themselves etched apparition like spring twinkled and glazed in twilight enchantment.   

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