Since her 2007 debut, Wild and Undaunted, Londoner Lisa Knapp has blazed an impressive trail at the avant edge of British folk, her bravura vocals lighting up self-penned songs and well-loved standards, while the inventive arrangements of partner and producer Gerry Diver – now credited as co-creator – have helped capture the wyrdness, wonder and darkness of folklore.
On Hinterland, the pair repeat the trick to thrilling effect. Opener Hawk & Crow has Knapp at her larkish best, giving voice to a cast of birds over a stumbling, broken rhythm – a kind of elfin Tom Waits. The spoken-word Train Song relocates us to today’s mundane realities – “poplars tall, village hall, stately home, sewage works” – before Star Carr whisks us back to the Mesolithic Yorkshire site where ritual headdresses of red deer antler hint at ancient raves.
Along with intense fiddle playing from Diver, crepuscular instrumentation accompanies a clutch of traditional ballads; the tender romance of I Must Away Love, the murderous Long Lankin and the forlorn Lass of Aughrim, the last with Knapp in heartbreaking form. She sings carefully throughout but remains unafraid to spill the odd yowl and yelp; you get the whole person. Folk at its most exalted.
