nature soundscape · harp
Put it on and forget it's there. That's the idea.
Performs rarely and only in intimate rooms across the UK — small halls, back rooms, someone's front parlour. Nothing large, nothing ticketed widely. For house-concert enquiries, write.
In the lineage of Impressionist water-music · folk modal singing · field recordings · early music
No secret to how this gets made: one harp, two microphones, a room, and a lot of erasing.
I keep the mistakes that sound like weather and cut the ones that sound like mistakes.
Owed to Impressionist water-music, folk modal singing, field recordings. The rest I took by accident.
Everything on “Petal Murmurs” grows out of one thing: the sound of estuary when no one is listening.
I kept the takes that sounded like weather and cut the rest.
That is all it wants to be.
May it find you at the right hour.
“Sonnet in Bloom” began with tides — a small thing I kept circling.
The harp does the thinking here; I only choose what to keep.
If it slowed you down for forty minutes, it did its job.
There are worse things to build a body of work on than waders.
I wrote it at the harp, mostly late, mostly by deleting.
Play it low. It was made low.
I didn't plan “Flower Talks”. It arrived as one image of tides I couldn't put down and asked to be finished.
The harp does the thinking here; I only choose what to keep.
It isn't a message — it's company for a particular hour.
Solo harp for the estuary at every hour, where river becomes sea.
In nature soundscape, the harp is a kind of weather here — it moves through estuary and tides the way light moves through a room, slowly and without asking.
The records — “Flower Talks”, “Petal Murmurs”, “Sonnet in Bloom”, “The Enchanted Grove” — are less albums than seasons: each one a long, held breath.
Make the room quieter than you found it.
