The poet and artist Barbara Guest, an original member of the New York school of poetry, ended her final collection, The Red Gaze (2005), with the following words by Theodor Adorno: ‘In each genuine art work something appears that did not exist before.’ It’s a quote so pertinent to how we view human creativity today that it seems almost like a manifesto in miniature. Of course, when he wrote those words, Adorno wasn’t thinking of artificial intelligence, at least not in the way we know it, but nonetheless, it seems like a succinct argument for the human over the machine. When a human being makes a work of art, they put something new into the world, something that may draw from a wealth of influences but, at its best, ignites those influences with a creative spark. AI, broadly speaking, can’t do this. It is essentially mimetic.
The mimetic qualities of AI made themselves known to English folk singer Emily Portman last year, when people she knew started getting in touch to congratulate her on the release of her new record. It’s always nice to hear positive feedback, right? The trouble was, Portman hadn’t released a new record. A little bit of digging revealed a sinister turn of events: her voice and musical style had been copied by AI, and there were two albums of essentially forged material available to anyone who had the means to stream them on Spotify and Apple Music. While the bogus albums have now been removed, the story – which was covered extensively in the press – raises alarming questions about the ethics of creativity and the ease with which artists and listeners can be manipulated.
Portman has been stoic in the face of what could have been a disheartening episode. She has forged ahead with the release of her new – very real, very human – album, Dominion of Spells. It is her fourth album of self-written songs, and from the off, it is clear that she is in full creative control, weaving a tapestry of complex lyrical themes and intricate musical arrangements. Early release Fox’s Song encapsulates many of those themes: feminism and midlife change, atavism, and the idea of abandoning oneself to a wilder form of life. Inspired by a Siberian folk tale, it casts its narrator in the role of shape-shifting woman-fox. Portman’s voice – understated but always clear – relates a quietly powerful message of the importance of freespiritedness, while her finely-wrought banjo playing forms a delicate lattice with Louis Campbell’s acoustic guitar.
The hazy line between human, animal and supernatural realms is commonly explored in fairytales, and Portman makes good use of it more than once here, using ancient themes to highlight contemporary issues. On Owl Light, she calls on the Welsh owl goddess Blodeuwedd as a means of highlighting the safety issues faced by women after dark. The song swoons on sweeping cello (Lucy Revis) and stately piano, but its message is urgent and trenchantly conveyed. Weary Spell, which has the feel of ancient balladry about it, sees Portman’s narrator conversing with a crow, a symbol of depression, but also the beauty and closeness at hand of the natural world. There is a striking, droning, musical backdrop, punctuated by guitarists Martin Simpson (acoustic) and Louis Campbell (electric), as well as the mournful viola of Helen Bell.
Portman has been part of several excellent collaborative projects in recent times, as part of a duo with Rob Harbron and as one quarter of The Furrow Collective, and although she holds the creative reins here, there is an impressive list of guests. Ben Nicholls and Neil McSweeney take turns on bass, while Will Scrimshaw’s sympathetic drumming illuminates most of the songs. Lucy Farrell and Mary Hampton provide backing vocals, adding harmonic depth to tracks like Flowerface, a beautiful song that also features Sam Sweeney on violin, which again takes inspiration from Blodeuwedd, telling the story of a woman created from flowers who earns a hard-won freedom from her creators. Imagine Frankenstein retold by Angela Carter and you’d be getting close.
That kind of daring storytelling is Portman’s stock in trade. Album opener Turn Again uses Tam Lin as a jumping-off point to examine the joys of motherhood and the singular, natural intelligence that defines a child’s mind. It is melodically stunning, full of cascading piano and breathless, wondering vocals. East of the Son is another retelling of an old folk tale, or in this case, two: East of the Sun, West of the Moon and The Black Bull of Norroway. Portman examines the very human notion of self-sacrifice through ideas of enchantment and transformation, while Campbell’s subtle electric guitar weeps in the background. Three Magic Notes sees enchantment emerge as the album’s primary theme: it takes inspiration from nature writer Robert Macfarlane to retell a gender-swapped version of a story from the Finnish epic Kalevala. It is a rangy, ambitious piece that itself takes on the power of a spell, drawing you into its richly detailed world.
Portman constructs songs with immense skill and a distinct flair for the dramatic.Moon Dark starts as a personal, domestic drama – an honest account of the menstrual cycle’s effects on a woman’s body – and then branches out into folkloric transformation, erupting into vocal howls and screeches of guitar. Dreamless Sleep is a clever and bittersweet song about the dangers of being terminally online, sung with a yearning tenderness. Dominion of Spells’ starkest moment comes with Waiting Room, which takes the grief of a miscarried pregnancy and weaves strands of hope from a moment of despair. This one’s just Portman and her piano, and the comparative minimalism allows the emotional journey to be traced in painful and joyous detail.
Though the overall feel of Dominion of Spells might at first seem quite sober, there are moments of levity, not least on Let’s Go For a Swim, with its finely observed but conversational verses, Portman’s bouncy banjo and a flighty cello part by Revis. The chorus is a moment of elated release, a fresh and glistening moment to be savoured. And the title track, which closes out the album, vibrates with so much life you can almost feel it. An a cappella piece, with Portman’s voice backed up by the hum of Farrell and Hampton, it serves as a final act of reclamation, an unequivocal rebuke to centuries of oppression, and a rallying cry for the power of creativity and expression. The fact that Portman’s own creative autonomy came under threat from AI in the run-up to the album’s release makes this finale even more significant. Of all the singers and songwriters in British folk music, few have the ability to encapsulate what it means to be human in the way that Portman does. Dominion of Spells is a real and vital piece of work, something to be cherished.
Dominion of Spells (May 1st, 2026) Hudson Records
Available on digital, CD, LP. There is also a Book-CD – The Book includes a CD and download of the new album along with lyrics, illustrations and the folk tales which inspired and informed Dominion of Spells.
Pre-Order: https://hudsonrecords.ffm.to/dominionofspells
Musicians on Dominion of Spells
Emily Portman—voice, piano, Wurlitzer, keys, banjo, ukulele, concertina
Louis Campbell—guitars
Lucy Revis—cello
Lucy Farrell—voice, saw
Mary Hampton—voice
Martin Simpson—acoustic/slide guitars
Helen Bell—viola & violin
Neil McSweeney—electric bass
Ben Nicholls—double bass
Sam Sweeney—violin
Will Schrimshaw—drums