by Kris Handel
Daisy Rickman is a newer voice on the British folk scene, respectfully toying with all the methods and traditions that came before her, but she’s using that foundation to explore in a unique and wholly captivating manner. Her baritone vocals carry a Nico-esque mystique to them, mixed with a bit of Nick Drake and Laura Marling, while her music encompasses cycling guitar patterns and meditative drones. Rickman casts quite a remarkable spell on these songs that evoke the beauty of the natural world as well as exploring spooky and unique themes harking back to times long past. Howl is the second full length, following 2022's Donsya a'n Loryow, and with this record she manages to push herself even further into cultural traditions of the Cornish people as well as forays into the possibly occult.
Rickman opens Howl with a jangling droning bit of folk in "Falling Through the Rising Sun," incorporating sitar and 12-string guitar as her alternately chiming and bellowing vocals chant, "All we have is one/falling through the rising sun". Handling all instrumentation on this record, the harmonizing of each is intense and mesmerizing, especially on the opening track. "Bleujen an Howl" follows with Rickman singing in the Cornish dialect as wispy clarinet buzzes around a slow yet propulsive drum beat accentuated by ringing and hammered banjo notes. Her double tracked vocals add to the sense of otherworldliness that haunts the song from start to finish with a striking solemnity and grace.
"Signpost to the Stars" is especially reflective, with a rolling guitar pattern as Rickman comes closest to the writing of someone like Nick Drake, her vocals stretching and soaring over the relatively sparse backing. She really hits home on the feeling of closeness on this homespun tale, making a real connection and carrying with it a wondrous presence. This song has the feeling of being grounded, highlighting the ability to mesh warmth with ominous tension and the pulsing force of unease. The strong ties to a more traditional singer/songwriter folk approach remain, yet there is something unique and remarkable that can raise the hairs across your body.
The variation of moods and styles on this record is truly a treat and what appears to be seamless mastery of so many instruments lends credence to the assertion of Rickman as a "one-person orchestra" as not that much of an overstatement. Howl is a captivating listen through it's ten tracks, showing off the playfulness of her compositions as well as paying great respect to the song-form of the inspirations on display. Rickman pushes her boundaries repeatedly and blends so many sounds into something that carries intrigue as well as light and darkness every step of the way. This record really is stunning and sometimes incomparable in it's shrouding of so many mysteries and pathways to a new and welcome experience or awakening.