Cerys Hafana’s songs have a concentrated quality. The ingredients that go into each piece are relatively minimal; the sounds that come out are stark and saturated. Their voice has an exceptionally clear quality, and the notes that spring from the Welsh triple harp are crisp and light, trading off repetition and subtle variation. Opener Helynt Ryfeddol instantly plunges you into a kind of dream state. You can tell that this is a song about enchantment or fey beguilement, even if you don’t speak Welsh. It sounds like the last song you hear before you fall asleep beside a magical stream. So it comes as no surprise to learn that Helynt Ryfeddol tells the story of a old man’s walk in a wooded grove and the uncanny time slip that ensues. Two-thirds of the way through, the song slows and grows woozy, as if falling into a dream within a dream.
Four of the nine tracks on Angel – Hafana’s third album – are sung in Welsh, and the other five are instrumentals. The whole thing drifts around the central themes of enchantment, dream states and lost time that were introduced in the opening track. Carol Mynyddog begins with an unaccompanied vocal section, which is joined for a spell by Amie Huckstep’s saxophone. The song then thickens out as other instruments are introduced, including the avant-garde scrape of a fiddle, temporarily giving off some distinct John Cale vibes.
The instrumentals are equally lovely. O’r Coed advances on the most minimal of piano refrains decorated by curlicues of sax, moving away from traditional music to tread the line between neoclassical and free jazz. In Drexillius, a simple melody hangs transfixed while a jumpy harp dances around it. Utilising Lisa Martin’s adroit drumming, An Dro is bustling, percussive and quick-footed, its traditional-sounding melody is gorgeous but also fraught and slightly icy. Ffarwel i f’Ieuenctid (whose title translates to Farewell to my Youth), is soft and tender and full of nostalgic yearning, in a way that only a harp tune can be. 350 Mlynedd – its title referring to the 350 years of enchanted sleep experienced by the album’s protagonist – forges a similar path: intricate harp, springy bass (Ursula Harrison), and a tune that alternates moments of blissful serenity, wide-eyed wonder and frolicking quickness. It’s as if, in his sleep of centuries, the protagonist has regained some of the playfulness of youth.
The album coalesces around its final two songs. The title track provides a perfect showcase for Hafana’s talents as both harpist and singer. Their evocative and acrobatic vocals swirl around nimble and insistent plucked notes, which owe a debt to Breton as well as Welsh musical traditions. The last song, Astain, is perhaps the most beautiful of all. A series of soft, tentative sax notes emerges against the backdrop of a chiming, cascading piano motif. It’s a mesmerising musical tapestry that builds slowly, almost imperceptibly, towards a final unaccompanied vocal section, a brief couplet that acts as an open-ended goodbye, closing the album on a delightfully mysterious note.
Songs in the Brittonic languages are enjoying a welcome renaissance. Artists like Gwenno, Georgia Ruth and Daisy Rickman have helped reposition Welsh and Cornish song in a modern and often experimental framework, and Cerys Hafana’s music sits easily within that company. Like them, she is not afraid to delve deeper: her relationship to the Welsh language is defined by deep-rooted knowledge and appreciation of Welsh folklore, and it’s this immersive attitude to culture, music, language and myth that gives Angel its eerie, swooning, dreamlike quality.
Angel (26 September) tak:til/ Glitterbeat
Order: https://idol-io.ffm.to/angel-album